


You And Me Forevermore

by writerinacloud



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Angst, Breakups, Comfort, Drinking, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship, Happy Ending, Hope, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Love at First Sight, M/M, Memories, Mental Health Issues, Partying, Teacher-Student Relationship, and Harry might get hurt by him, but I promise it's not, not a huge one but still, the original male character is a player, this all sounds so dark, time capsule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-20 00:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13135407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerinacloud/pseuds/writerinacloud
Summary: These are someone’s things. He drops the card on the table. He can’t open it because this is someone’s life he’s holding in his hands. Or at least a part of it. He looks at the box, finally realising what it actually is; a time capsule. He found someone’s treasured memories, that weren’t even supposed to be found yet.- -An AU, where when Harry was 20, he decided to make a time capsule. He collected five things that might be pointless to someone else, but to him, they tell a story. He hid the time capsule in his childhood home and soon forgot it. Years went by and his family sold the house.Louis buys his first own home when he's 31. He finds a box filled with nameless memories. Five things, that remind him of his own youth. These five random objects just belong to someone else. Louis keeps the box and comes up with stories why someone has wanted to save these exact items. One day the box with its contents is all he can think about. He decides to find who the memories belong to.





	1. Harry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsdreamwriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsdreamwriting/gifts).



> Merry Christmas!! 
> 
> This fic is a Christmas present to my dear friend, [Nora](https://starsinyourheartbeat.tumblr.com/), who has been waiting for this since the first of December. I made an advent calendar of the synopsis, giving her a few words every day, until the 23rd. Well, this fic got a little delayed, but it's finally here! I love you, my dear friend, thank you for being you <3
> 
> And thank you [Iris](http://happythoughtslivelonger.tumblr.com/) for helping me and giving me comments, you're the loveliest <3
> 
> If there are typos, they're completely my fault since English isn't my first language :D 
> 
>  
> 
> This fic is a little different and I hope you'll like it :) Happy reading!! 
> 
> Before I forget, of course, there's a playlist! 
> 
> **Chapter 1:**  
>  Beck / Wow   
> Phantogram / Let Me Go   
> Joyner Lucas / I'm Sorry   
> Daughter / Flaws  
> Wolf Alice / We're Not The Same   
> Aqualung, Kina Grannis / To The Wonder

He’s watching everyone. He’s like a ghost sitting on the couch, a plastic cup in his hand with some strong concoction of a drink. The bass of the music makes the bottoms of his feet vibrate and tickle. The people, who are dancing, can’t feel it though. They are swaying and jumping, grinding and touching, kissing and disappearing into some darker corners of the house.

 

But Harry isn’t dancing. He’s sitting on the couch, forgotten by his friends. Well, he might’ve forgotten himself there. He doesn’t really care what his friends are doing. If they are getting drinks from the kitchen, dancing between sweaty bodies, upstairs getting high or hooking up with random people they’d forget by tomorrow. Harry doesn’t care. 

 

Harry’s eyes catch a guy who’s dancing with his eyes closed, alone, his hands up in the air, a similar plastic cup like Harry’s in his hand. The man sips from it and then lifts the cup back in the air, like toasting for the drunken night. The guy disappears into the crowd, getting swallowed by the beat. 

Harry’s eyes flick from person to person. He tries to recognise himself in them. But he can’t place himself anywhere. He feels like such an outsider, a ghost who isn’t really living. The music booms, until the volume lowers, lower, and suddenly vanishes. People are still dancing, and he feels the bass, but he can’t hear the music. 

He’s just watching the people around him, while his mind moves in slow motion. He sees someone he thinks he recognises and when he realises he doesn’t know them, he moves on to watch someone else. But his brain doesn’t register the person until he has already on the next one. 

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, resting it against the back of the couch. He focuses on the bass under his feet and imagines it to break the floor and make everyone float. He’s floating.

He’s definitely drunk.

 

He opens his eyes and the music comes back on with full force. He can’t sit on the couch anymore, can’t stand sitting in one place for the whole evening. He starts to weave through the crowd towards the kitchen. He sees the back of Caleb’s head just leaving the kitchen, followed by a group of his other friends. 

Harry doesn’t go after Caleb. He’s good on his own, maybe even prefers to be alone. He pours orange juice into his cup, followed with some liquor with a name he’s too tired to start figuring out. He tastes the drink and nods when the liquid makes his tongue numb with alcohol. He’s pushed out of the kitchen by a group of yelling men, who don’t have any shirts on. He almost spills his drink but manages to keep his balance. He feels like floating already, no need for the floor to disappear. He’s a ghost, people can’t see him. And he’s floating. 

 

He starts to walk around the house, trying to see his friends. But it seems like the more he searches, the blurrier the faces around him become. He walks upstairs, taking one step at a time and holding onto the railing with his dear life. 

People are closing doors when they enter different rooms. There are people hanging from other’s necks, fumbling to find lips to kiss. Some doors are open, shamelessly showing who are in the rooms. People are smoking or hooking up. 

Maybe they don’t care if someone sees them, maybe they don’t even realise they left the door open. It’s all just a big blur in Harry’s mind anyway. He could walk in on someone and wouldn’t mind if the people in there are taking their clothes off. He would probably just fall asleep next to them. 

 

Harry finds an empty room. That’s how he feels every time he’s somewhere. Like he’s in an empty room with no others. He prefers it that way this time too. He checks there’s no one in any of the corners and that he’s truly alone. He closes the door and sits on the bed, while he listens to the music shaking the floor. 

Slowly he falls on his back and closes his eyes. He shouldn’t have come to the party at all. He doesn’t know what he was doing here anyway. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing in life anymore. Is it a good choice for him to study? Is it the right choice to study at the same university as his dad did 20 years ago? 

He has no clue what he wants from his future, what he wants to do now, what he wants to do tomorrow. He doesn’t even know who he can talk to. It seems like there’s no one he can talk to. 

There’s a couple of people he has gotten to know, but he can’t really call them his friends. Robbie from his literature history course has his own things and Caleb too. They’re both busy with sports and study groups and clubs and extracurricular activities. And Harry is just Harry; the sad student who never hangs out with anyone. Harry has no idea how his so-called friends can handle so much at the same time when he wants to just fall asleep after every class and lecture. He just wants to sleep through university and somehow get a degree at the same time.

 

He has never really felt this alone, and suddenly it just hits him. It’s not hard for him to make friends or anything, it’s never about that. It’s more about who he feels comfortable with. It isn’t easy to find people who he can truly trust, who listens to him and who wants to be honest with him. 

There are too many people, who he let too close and they all ended up hurting him by revealing what they were really like. They talked behind his back, shared his things with people he didn’t know and just vanished like they wouldn’t have had anything to do with each other. That was two years ago. Since then he has felt completely comfortable being alone, or at least almost alone. 

 

Maybe it’s the alcohol that made him feel so sad and alone. He should just go downstairs and hang out with people. He should be having fun, parties are always fun! Except this party. He forgets the cup in his hand and almost tips it over, but saves it just in time by pressing it against his thigh. There’s still some drink left. Maybe he should just get wasted and try to numb the loneliness. Or maybe he could just leave. 

 

He decides to take the latter option. He sits up and empties his cup. He feels the warmth spreading in his chest. For a moment he stares at the cup in his hand. He feels the weight of it become lighter the more he drinks from it. For a moment he thinks about what he wants from this new year. 

He wants something to happen. It’s his first year in university, and he feels like he isn’t doing anything. He’s hanging in there, hanging along with teeth and nails, but he isn’t part of anything. He’s staring at the cup and with a sigh, he empties it. He tries to come up with something to remind himself how his life could be more than just hanging along. 

He leaves the cup on the bedside table and stands up. The room sways and his feet are heavy, but he bravely makes his way towards the stairs and the sea of people downstairs. He doesn’t spare a look to see if his friends are somewhere close. Besides, he only hangs out with them if they ask him to come along to make the group bigger. He’s never really invited to any smaller gatherings. He’s just a filler.

 

No one stops him when he steps out of the door and starts to walk towards his flat. People are on the street, sitting on the curb or talking in small groups, smoking, or puking the drinks they have drank during the night. It’s not even midnight yet; the year is still the same. 

_When the midnight comes, I’ll change the course of my life_ , he thinks. He’d do something if he’d just know what that would be.

 

“Hey, you! Hey!” A guy calls, and Harry doesn’t first even realise that the man is calling for him. Harry stops when he sees the man staring at him and waving his hand to Harry, calling him over.

“Yeah, you!” The man calls again. His hand is on some other boy’s back. He’s trying to calm the boy while he vomits. The boy is leaning both of his hands against a wall and the man is somehow keeping himself far enough for the boy not to puke on his shoes.

 

“Can you come here?” The man asks Harry when he has stopped and is just staring at the two. 

The man looks a bit older, maybe thirty years old. He’s wearing nice clothes, not something that you’d wear to a house party, so he probably wasn’t there. He’s wearing black trousers and a black coat over his white button-up shirt. He might be even wearing a blazer or something, Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Harry can’t see it though. 

It just looks like he’s wearing preppy clothes and he’s not a university student. He has hipster glasses on his face and his dark hair is tousled perfectly on top of his head. He smiles politely, not like he would’ve drank something this evening. He’s a grown-up, definitely.

 

Harry walks over, tentatively, recognising the boy who is puking. He’s Jasper from one of his literature courses. Jasper always sits in the back, and Harry can always hear him whispering things to his friends. He’s talkative and he never gets caught. Maybe the professor is partially deaf or maybe Jasper knows how far his whispers carry. But Harry can always hear him, even though he can never hear what he talks about with his friends. 

 

“Hey,” the man says, his head tilted, his eyes shining. Harry is watching Jasper, who looks like he has finally emptied his stomach on the street. Until another wave of sick makes its way out of his mouth and he heaves it out coughing. But the man demands attention with his voice, making Harry lift his gaze. 

”You okay?” He asks, amused. 

“Yeah, hi,” Harry tries to smile, but the sounds Jasper makes are starting to get to him. He looks away and tries to breathe the fresher air. 

“Do you know where he lives? I was walking past him when he started vomiting and I don’t think I can leave him here. He’ll get robbed or something, freeze to death…” Harry looks at the man from the corner of his eye, keeping Jasper out of his field of vision. 

“And of course, I don’t know where he lives…” The man lifts his brows, while Harry has to think for a moment what the man just told him. He’s definitely way too drunk. He should’ve gotten a taxi. 

“How do you think I know where he lives?” Harry asks him, maybe a bit too sharply. 

“No, that’s not, well yeah, maybe I thought you’d know where he lives. You look like a student,” he chuckles nervously, patting Jasper on the back. 

 

“I don’t know where he lives, but I know where one of his friends lives. I can text him and maybe he can come and get him,” Harry tells the man, already digging out his phone. He hopes he sounds at least somewhat sober. In his head, he sounds perfectly sober, but what comes out of his mouth might be something different. 

He’s standing still, but his feet are still wobbling under him. The screen of his phone looks too small and his fingers are tapping the wrong letters. His eyes can’t register what he has written, and the lines jump and change places. The man is saying something to Jasper, while Harry is trying hard to get a grip and overcome his drunkenness. 

 

“Let me,” the man says and when Harry looks up, he’s standing incredibly close, his palm open for Harry to place the phone on it. Harry can’t fight it, he does as he’s told. 

“What you’ve written doesn’t make any sense,” the man snicker, as he deletes whatever Harry has typed. 

“It was okay, I would’ve handled that,” Harry says, and he thinks he’s making a lot of sense. 

“No, because what you had written weren’t even words anymore.” The man’s laughter is contagious, and Harry hates it. It has to be the alcohol that’s making him laugh with the man, not the way the man talks to him. 

 

Harry holds out his hand when he sees the man send out the text. He’s waiting to see the man put the phone in his hand, but when that doesn’t happen, he has to force his eyes to face the man. He’s smirking at Harry, watching Harry under his brow. 

“Tell me when the friend answers,” the man just says before he gives Harry his phone back. His fingertips brush against Harry’s palm. They stay there for a moment like it would be the most intimate touch anyone could ever make. 

Harry stares at his hand, seeing how long the man’s fingers are and how the tips slowly lift away from Harry’s skin. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He just wants his insides to calm down and to not do the flips they are doing. 

 

The man turns away and goes back to Jasper who is sitting on the ground. Jasper’s head is leaned against the brick wall with his eyes closed. Harry feels his phone buzz in his hand, and he almost drops it when he types in the passcode.

 

“He’s on his way, Jasper’s friend is coming,” Harry mumbles, standing back from the two. The man is squatting next to Jasper, asking if he needs anything and how he’s feeling. Jasper only shakes his head, his eyes still closed and his mouth half open.

 

“I know him from one of my courses,” The man says, standing up. He looks at Jasper with eyes that can only reflect pity and sadness.

 

“He’s a good student, but he has some problems. I hope he won’t flush himself down the drain while he’s trying to come to terms with those problems,” the man continues.

 

“He’s too talented to be wasted away, he’s too good, and he’s kind too. But he’s troubled,” he faces Harry and sighs.

 

“So you study here too?” Harry nods, not really knowing what he’s supposed to say to this man. Is he supposed to know him? If he’s a teacher here, why can’t he place the man to a course? Well, perhaps the man hasn’t taught Harry. Maybe he’ll never even see this man again. It’s a big university, it’s not unheard of to not meet most of the professors and teachers.

 

The man stays silent, his hands in his jacket pockets and his eyes watching past Harry. He looks focused like he’s trying hard not to say anything or look at Harry or do anything. He stands like a statue.

 

“Is that the friend?” The man nods towards someone. Harry turns slowly and notices someone coming closer; Julian. He recognises Julian immediately because he has red hair and he’s tall. Really tall. 

 

“Hey! Is he here?” He asks and sees Jasper right away like an answer to his question. 

The man starts to tell the story of how he found Jasper and that he probably needs lots of water and painkillers in the morning. Harry feels like he’s not needed there anymore. Both the man and Julian have turned their backs on him, so he’s not even existing in their world anymore. Jasper will go home and everyone will be fine. 

 

He walks slowly like he’d be on ice. He just wants to be careful not to stumble. He considers every step and whether his legs will carry him. He knew he was drunk, but he feels like he’s even drunker, like that would be possible. 

It feels like the drinks he drank are just now settling into his bloodstream and making everything hazy. He’s looking at his feet like they’d know where they’re going. Then he realises he needs his eyes as well. He checks his surroundings, making sure he’s still going in the right direction. His eyes land back to his feet, watching them and making him dizzy at the same time.

 

“You okay?” He feels a grip on his elbow, startling him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the man from earlier says and smiles apologetically when Harry stares at him with wide eyes.

 

“I’m just going home, ‘m fine,” he mumbles, his gaze falling, his eyes falling shut.

“Maybe I should walk you home just to make sure you get there safely?” The man suggests his hand keeping Harry in place.

“No, no need, ’m good,” Harry assures him but knows that he doesn’t sound sure at all.

 

“Maybe I’ll just walk you home anyway, okay? Just to make sure.” It’s not a question anymore. 

Harry starts to walk, and the man follows. His hand drops from Harry’s elbow and it feels freeing. They don’t say a word to each other, not even when they reach Harry’s building and Harry goes inside. They part ways and it feels like the man wasn’t even real. Just a man who will stay as someone who he’ll never know.

 

Harry gets home, and he stumbles through the apartment until he reaches his bed. He almost throws his clothes off him, before he buries himself under the duvet. The drunk dizziness buzzes in his ears, and it hasn’t felt this good to close his eyes in a while.

He hears the fireworks going off in the distance, people talking loudly on the street under his window.

“Happy new year,” he whispers to himself. It’s the first minute of the new year and he makes a promise to himself. This year will be better. This year he’ll do better. He’ll be better. And he’s not going to stay alone.

\- -

Harry is already sitting in the classroom when others are streaming in. It’s his first lecture of the new year, and he hasn’t felt more unmotivated since he first started his studies in university. He can’t stop thinking if this is what he wants. 

It’s like a curse in his head, hitting him with all the questions about his future he can think of. _What do you want? What are your dreams? What do you want to do? What do you want to become? Where do you see yourself?_. 

And all the questions come to mind at the best times, like when he needs to do some assignments or read something or even walk to a class. He can’t stop thinking if this is what he wants for his future. Does he want to study literature, does he see his future in some dusty office reading some other people’s manuscripts for the next great books? Does he see himself wearing grey suits and having a grey life? 

 

The constant chatter keeps on going but turns muted. He hears people whispering about the parties they went to during the holidays and how they can’t remember half of the evenings because of all the alcohol they drank. Harry is feeling like that all the time. Nothing makes sense, nothing sticks. Everything seems like being drunk and he can’t remember anything. Everything just… is. 

And he even promised himself he’d change, he’d do something to make whatever is around him matter. But he hasn’t found a way to do that. Mostly it feels like his life has just gotten worse. What can he even do? Is there anything? How can he make things matter to him? How can he do something that means more to him than everything else? 

 

“Hey,” a girl next to him nudges him, her brows raised. He knows her but doesn’t know her name. She nods her head towards the front of the classroom, making him come out of his thoughts. Everyone is looking at him, waiting for something. He sees the teacher standing in the front, with a clipboard in his hands and his eyes are also on Harry. 

“Harry?” He asks, his kind eyes twinkling. 

Harry only nods, because there are no words. His drunkenness made him blind to the beauty of that man. His drunkenness during New Year's Eve. It’s the man who helped Jasper. He’s standing in front of everyone with his hipster glasses and his smart outfit and his tousled hair. He smiles, and everyone goes quiet. 

The man calls out names, getting people to either lift their hands or say “here”. The man goes through the names and every time he calls out for someone new, his eyes flit to Harry. Every time, with every single name, he sees Harry and Harry can’t look away. It feels like he’s making sure he still has Harry’s attention. 

 

“I’m Finn Quentin and I’m going to be your literature analysis 101 teacher! I know, I look a bit young, but no need to worry,” he has his hands in the air defensively, a charming smile on his face. Everyone chuckles. 

“I graduated two years ago, and I’ve been teaching for the whole time since.” He drops his hands and picks up a book from his desk. 

“Does everyone have their books?” He asks. People nod around Harry. But Harry doesn’t because he doesn’t have the book. He didn’t even know they were supposed to get a book for this course. He should’ve known, he ordered all of his course books last year. He has read through the list at least ten times and ordered everything he needed. But apparently, he missed this one. He feels his cheeks burning, not really knowing what to do. 

“If you don’t have a book yet, just follow along and ask the person next to you if you can read along with them for this class,” the teacher looks at Harry and his gaze makes Harry feel self-conscious. Is he the only one without a book? 

He looks around the classroom, discreetly checking if the other students have everything they’re supposed to have. They don’t. He spots Jasper sitting in the back, in the corner, without a book. But the teacher doesn’t see him. His eyes are still on Harry when Harry turns back. 

 

The girl next to him smiles at him politely, moving the book between them.

“We can use the same book,” she says and Harry whispers her a thank you. 

 

He tries to follow the class and everything they talk about, but his mind drifts away every few minutes. He finds himself looking out the window, out at the grey clouds and rain that beats the windowsill. Raindrops make small rivers on the window. He follows the drops until they disappear. 

They get to do some assignments during the class, but because Harry hasn’t followed at all, the girl next to him starts to frown and moves her book away from his reach. She turns her body away from Harry and does whatever they’re asked to do with her friend. Everyone pairs up as well, leaving Harry on his own. He looks back, hoping Jasper would be alone as well, but he’s already working with someone. 

Desperately he starts to write whatever the teacher has written on the board, knowing that the teacher is watching him. He can feel Finn’s kind eyes on him, making him even more aware of himself and the fact that he hasn’t been paying attention at all. He shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t have come here. 

 

Harry tries to look like he knows what he’s doing. He copies all the notes, but they’re shadowed with disappointment towards himself and to the fact that he doesn’t know what he wants. The teacher stands up and starts to round the classroom slowly. 

Harry moves his hand to cover the page of his notebook, to cover his ability to focus. The man doesn’t say a word when he walks past Harry, just keeps on going and comments on others work. 

The teacher ends the class early. He keeps standing close to Harry, and Harry knows he’s watching. The pressure of knowing that he’s not invisible makes him clumsier than he normally is. He almost drops his notebook and pencil case and then his backpack on the floor when he’s leaving. He rushes out the door and doesn’t look back when he leaves the campus. 

He goes straight to his apartment, clutching his chest and trying to breathe. He should attend three more classes today, but he can’t. He collapses on the floor, and closes his eyes, wishing he could talk to someone. Wishing he could go home and not worry about lectures and classes. He hopes, knowing that his hope doesn’t have a future. 

\- -

The class doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, but Harry is already walking towards the classroom. The door is ajar, and he looks inside, not seeing anyone. He sighs, relieved to be alone. He hasn’t been attending the classes for the past two weeks, needing more time for himself and his unhealthy habits. 

Habits of not sleeping for two days or sleeping for days. Not eating at all or stuffing his face until he has to throw everything up. In his small apartment, he feels like a caged animal, not able to move or ask for help. He suffers inside the four walls and lets the feeling sweep over him, lets himself feel like he doesn’t deserve anything. Until the sun shines in and he gets to breathe. 

 

He sits on his place or the seat where he sat during the first class. Maybe no one has taken it, maybe it’s still free. If it’s not, he’ll find another seat. He’s just happy that he made it so far. He can’t leave now, he doesn’t want to give up today. He even has the book, even though everything he has been reading doesn’t stay in his mind. But he has been trying. 

“Hello!” The teacher smiles at him brightly. Harry looks at him like he’s seeing a ghost. 

“Sorry if I scared you,” the man chuckles. He walks behind his desk but doesn’t sit down. He hesitates for a moment before he takes a few slow steps and then more bravely walks to sit next to Harry. 

Harry moves uncomfortably away from him, not looking at him. But if he liked it or not, he can see the fingers of the man laying on the table, the tips of his fingers gently against the desk. 

 

“Do you have a reason why you haven’t been attending my lectures?” He asks, his voice soft like cotton. 

“I thought I’m the only one responsible for my attendance,” Harry feels his throat going dry, his voice cracking. 

“Yes, that’s correct, but this group is small. And I see if someone is missing. So, do you have a reason?” 

“No,” Harry shakes his head slowly, drawing circles on his notebook. 

 

“Harry,” the teacher begins, and Harry can see him lifting his hand off the table. He keeps it up like he’d want to shake hands with Harry. Harry wants to know what the man means, but when he can only see the man eyeing him with his sparkling blue eyes, Harry has to look at the man’s offered hand. 

“I’m Finn, and you’re…?” 

“What?” Harry asks him, not following. 

“What’s your name?” Finn asks, offering a smile. Hesitantly Harry lifts his hand and clasps Finn’s hand, shaking it. Finn has a firm hold, his fingers almost against Harry’s wrist. 

“Harry,” he answers. He pulls his hand back, Finn’s fingers dragging against Harry’s palm and fingers. 

“I’m introducing myself to you because I think you need someone you can trust and who you can talk to,” Finn clasps his hands together on the table. 

 

“Harry, I know when I see someone struggling.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you really? Is it being fine that you don’t attend any of my classes? I’m sure you haven’t been on any of your other classes or lectures either,” Finn says, considering every word he says and saying them quietly like someone could be listening to them. 

“I’m fine. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. I’m fine.” 

“You’re right, I don’t know you, but when I see one of my students having a hard time, I want to help. Or at least try to help.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything to him, what is there to say? Finn is holding him down like he’d be tied to his chair. He wants Harry to say something, but Harry doesn’t know what those words could be? If Finn could just tell Harry what he wants to hear, maybe he’d leave Harry alone. 

 

“Okay, let me tell you something,” Finn begins, clapping his hands together. 

“University isn’t about knowing what you want to do in the future. Dreams change. Whatever you might’ve wanted last year doesn’t have to apply this year. When I see someone staring out the window and hoping they could be somewhere else, I know what they’re thinking.” 

“I’m fine, I know what I want.” 

“Do you?” 

“Yes! I’m studying, I’m fine!” 

“You’re saying you’re fine so much that I know even you can hear how it’s turning out to be a lie,” Finn tilts his head and sighs so quietly that anyone else could miss it. But he’s sitting so close that Harry can almost feel Finn’s breathing on him. 

 

“When I was in university, I didn’t know what I wanted from my future. There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

Harry would want to say that he’s fine, but he can’t anymore. They both know that it’s a lie. 

“I can help you. I can tutor you if you want. I can help you focus if you want.” 

“I don’t need any help.” 

“You have someone helping you? You know different ways to work?” 

“Yes! Just leave me alone,” Harry looks at him openly, just wishing Finn would leave. 

“Okay, no need to get offended,” Finn lifts his hands in the air the same way he did during the first class. He stands up but doesn’t walk away. 

 

“I know when I see someone struggling. You’re not alone. I can help you if you want me to,” he says, then steps away. Harry feels like the further Finn walks, the more he can breathe. He doesn’t want to admit any of it, any of the things Finn can apparently see only looking at Harry. 

And that scares Harry to the bone. 

“I’m glad that you came to class today, Harry,” Finn turns towards him before he walks out the room. Everything that Finn just said echoes in Harry’s head for the rest of the day. It’s haunting and it hurts like he’d be filling a void with Finn’s presence. 

 

The class starts in five minutes. Finn will be back before that. Harry sits in his chair, but can’t stay still. He feels like someone is biting his legs off, his skin crawling with discomfort. He stands up, not meaning to do it, but he can’t stop himself. 

He packs his backpack and doesn’t bother to put on his jacket before he’s out the door, running like hell. He knows he should’ve stayed, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to start screaming in the middle of the class, feeling like someone is torturing him. He knows he shouldn’t go home, he’ll only feel worse there, but he doesn’t know where else to go. 

So that’s where he goes. Into his cage. And suffers. 

\- -

He gets an email from Finn. 

_Harry,_

_I noticed you didn’t stay for class today. I hope it wasn’t because of what I said to you. Even though you’re in university and you have to take responsibility for yourself, it doesn’t mean us teachers can’t take action if we notice something is wrong._

_I hope to see you next week._

_Finn_

 

Take action. What does that mean? Is he going to report Harry’s behaviour to someone? Is he going to get into trouble because he’s had some problems with attending classes? He has returned every assignment he has had to return. He has done his work on time, he just struggles with them a bit. 

The fear of getting kicked out of university gets the best of him. It forces him to study, do even more work, forget everything else that is in his mind. It forces him to lose track of time until he realises he has been sitting in front of his laptop for far too long without doing anything. There’s an empty Word page in front of him, it has been there for hours, and he can’t make his hands move. 

The fear forces him to get out of bed the next morning to work, but he doesn’t go to lectures. He just waits for everything to be online, so he can study inside the four walls that he calls home. Four white walls, that are empty. Behind his window without any curtains. 

He does it, so he doesn’t have to see another email from Finn. 

\- -

Harry was 18 when he fell in love for the first time. He fell for someone he shouldn’t have. The person was someone who he trusted and who cared for him. The person was funny, beautiful and every time he opened his mouth, out came words that enchanted Harry. 

The man was working as an apprentice at Harry’s dad’s publishing house. Harry knew he shouldn’t have fallen for a man who worked under his dad. But Harry did. And the man took Harry’s heart, broke it into pieces and let them get crushed. 

His name was Benjamin and he saw Harry. He didn’t see Harry as his boss’s son but as a colleague. Harry was working at his dad’s office as an assistant for a year before going to university. His dad was always telling Harry how he should study literature, so he could come and work full time at the office after graduating. And maybe someday inherit the business. Harry had always said yes, doing what his dad wanted because he liked to see his dad so happy and proud. Proud of Harry and his achievements. 

 

Benjamin was the newest one at the office. He had been working there for eight months, and he was Harry’s dad’s favourite employee. He trusted Benjamin with manuscripts that he didn’t have time to read and he always got good notes from Benjamin to make the final decisions. Benjamin was easy to trust, and he was more than an apprentice for Harry’s dad. 

Harry realised that too. He trusted Benjamin, maybe even too much. You see, Benjamin was very good at handling people. He talked with people with ease, he was easy to like. To Harry, he showed a different side. He was quiet and sad and didn’t look anyone in the eye. At work, Benjamin was the complete opposite. Harry knew that something was off, but because he trusted the Benjamin he saw at work, he trusted Benjamin outside the office as well. 

 

Harry didn’t tell anyone. Neither did Benjamin. Harry was the first one to leave work, fifteen minutes later Benjamin followed. They went to Benjamin’s, spent the evening there until Harry had to go home. Or at least what he did most of the nights. 

Harry always told his parents he went to a library to study after work when in reality he was kissing Benjamin in Benjamin’s shower. Harry always said he was spending the evening seeing old friends when in reality he was sleeping with Benjamin. When Harry didn’t go home for the night, he always said he had crashed at Luke’s, who was his best friend growing up. In reality, they fell apart when they finished college. 

In reality, Harry was with Benjamin, being an adult, taking care of Benjamin when he was too tired to get out of bed to shower or to eat. Harry didn’t mind. He loved Benjamin. 

No one knew. It was their little secret. 

It was beautiful. It was real. It mattered to Harry because this was the first time he made it clear to himself who he was, and he accepted himself. He was true to himself. He was true with Benjamin. 

 

There were moments when they laid in bed and didn’t say a word. Harry loved those moments, those quiet moments that were so intimate that his skin crawled. He had never felt like that. 

Like he could’ve felt the air shift between him and Benjamin. Because of the shift, the energy was different between them. Sometimes the shift made him scared, sometimes it made him brave, sometimes it made him be someone else. Yet every time he was still Harry and the man next to him was still Benjamin, and they shared the same heartbeat and breathing pattern. 

 

It was a couple of months before Harry’s last day at the office. Benjamin didn’t come to work that day, which was something new. He always came to work. Harry hadn’t spent the night at his because Benjamin had said he had to do some work things. He never took work home. But Harry bought it. Benjamin had used his most charming smile, he had talked with a voice that made Harry believe him.

Harry didn’t want to seem weird about it, didn’t want to show too much interest in why Benjamin didn’t come to work that day. But he couldn’t help it. He had to know. 

 

“Dad?” 

“Yeah, I’m a bit busy, make it quick.” 

“I was bringing coffee for Benjamin and noticed he hadn’t come to work today, you know any reason?” He tried to sound nonchalant. But he knew there was a quiver in his voice, which could only be read as pure worry. 

 

He knew something was up. He knew Benjamin wasn’t well, but he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He knew it because he had seen the signs. They had been together for almost six months, and Benjamin had gotten worse. 

He wasn’t only quiet anymore. He was whispering things to himself. He stared at the wall and talked to it in the middle of the night like someone would’ve been there. Harry had woken up to it a few times, but never said a word about it. 

He always just listened but never understood. He didn’t understand. Sometimes Harry found Benjamin sitting in the tub, and he didn’t see or hear anything. Harry had to help him back to bed, back to this world, and everything was okay again. 

 

“Close the door,” his dad sighed and set down the papers he had in his hands. He took off his glasses and massaged his temples. 

“Benjamin doesn’t work here anymore. Or at least won’t come to work for a while,” he said, facing Harry. 

“Oh? Why not?” Harry feared the worst. He should’ve stayed with Benjamin. 

 

“You can’t tell anyone, okay? I’m saying this because you’re my son and I don’t know what to think of it, I don’t… It’s something that I didn’t see coming,” he says, shaking his head slowly. Harry just waited patiently, his heart in his throat. 

“Benjamin was admitted to a mental institute last night. Apparently, he had some sort of an episode, I don’t know what, but something. He’s on sick leave, but his mother said he won’t be able to work for a while.” 

Harry listened to his dad with a stone face. He listened and crumbled inside. He nodded and said that he was surprised as well. He wasn’t. He should’ve seen that coming. He should’ve done something, told someone, said something. 

 

When his dad went to have lunch, Harry sneaked into his office and searched for anything that could lead him to Benjamin. He lifted up piles of papers, browsed through his calendar and tried to find some clues. Until he heard his dad’s phone buzz in the pocket of his dad’s coat on the back of his chair. Harry took it out and saw a text. It was his work phone. His dad never left it at work, unless he had forgotten it. Unless he would be back to have his lunch in his office. 

The text was nothing. Just a confirmation of a meeting. With shaky hands, Harry unlocked the phone and checked the texts; nothing there. He went to the call log and saw a number that hadn’t been saved. He wrote it down for himself and put the phone back into the pocket of the coat. He left the office and it looked like no one had been there. 

 

He calls the number on his lunch break. A woman answers. For a moment Harry doesn’t know what to say. Harry doesn’t know if he should introduce himself as Harry or as someone who works at the office. Or as Benjamin’s boyfriend. 

He doesn’t. He says he’s Benjamin’s friend and that he heard about what had happened. He knows he’s talking with Benjamin’s mum, but tries to shut it out of his head. 

He gets an address. He promises to go after work. He doesn’t. 

 

It takes him two weeks to go and see Benjamin. He doesn’t call Benjamin’s mum, which he probably should’ve, but he doesn’t listen to the rational side of his brain. He gets to a beautiful country house with a huge garden. He has flowers for Benjamin, yellow daisies, and he’s nervous as hell. 

The nurses want to know who he is, and he tries to explain the best he can. A woman approaches them and looks at Harry. And he knows instantly that this person doesn’t work here. It’s Benjamin’s mum. 

“He can come, he’s a family friend,” she says, and smiles at Harry. 

“Thank you,” he can’t look her in the eyes. She walks with him to Benjamin’s room, stopping him. 

 

“You don’t come here for two weeks and now when you’re here, you won’t even look me in the eyes?” She talks quietly, her voice intense. Harry faces her, and his hands shake. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to…” He can’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t know how without offending her. She shakes her head and looks away. 

“He should be sleeping,” she says, tired, and walks away to sit on a chair in the hallway. Harry stands there for a moment, alone, gathering his courage. He doesn’t know why he needs courage to see his boyfriend. Until he walks in and sees Benjamin sitting on the bed.

 

His back is towards Harry, and he looks like a statue. He doesn’t move, he looks like he’s not breathing either. 

“Benjamin?” Harry asks, his voice breaking into a whisper. Benjamin doesn’t answer. Harry takes tentative steps forward, placing the flowers on the side table. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been visiting,” he tries, this time with a voice. Benjamin startles, his shoulders shake. Harry stands still like he’d be in the same room with a bear. 

“I should’ve called you, I’m sorry,” Harry says, his palms sweating. When Benjamin doesn’t do anything, Harry walks over to him. Benjamin’s eyes are glassy like he wouldn’t be there. In his body or in the room. Harry reaches his hand forward, touching Benjamin’s shoulder. 

 

The next thing he knows is he’s lying on the floor, Benjamin on top of him, screaming and strangling him. Benjamin’s eyes aren’t his, his face isn’t his, he’s someone else. Harry tries to push him off, but can’t. It’s like he’s fighting tonnes of iron. 

People run in and take Benjamin away. He’s still yelling, and Harry can’t understand. He understands the words, he understands what Benjamin is saying. But he _doesn’t understand_. He doesn’t stay to wait for the nurses to calm Benjamin down. He runs away, still feeling Benjamin’s hands on his neck. Still seeing the bandages on Benjamin’s arms, thick and white, only telling one thing. 

He runs away and doesn’t see Benjamin again. 

 

When he gets home, he remembers he had written a card for Benjamin. It was still in his pocket. He almost rips it, but then decides against it. He hides it between the pages of Romeo and Juliet, like that would somehow hold any meaning to the situation. It doesn’t. Other than it was Benjamin’s favourite book. 

\- -

A few weeks have passed, and Harry has been going through his days by force. He has forced himself out of bed and he has forced himself to attend classes. He might not always know what’s going on, but he’s there. 

Finn’s classes are different. Harry has started to listen what Finn says, what kind of things he thinks is good for the class to know. Harry might stare out the window most of the times, but he listens. It’s at least some sort of a step towards something that he can’t really name. It’s still something. 

Finn is someone who he can’t face. He’s a person Harry is afraid of. He’s afraid of Finn finding out his secrets and his past. The things that he doesn’t talk about and doesn’t want anyone to know. He’s afraid Finn will have power over him, which could push him over the edge. 

At the same time, he’s intrigued by Finn. He likes to hear Finn talk. He likes to listen to him walk back and forth the front of the classroom when he’s teaching. He likes to feel the electricity flow through him when Finn is walking around the classroom watching the students work. He’s the reason why Harry is going to his classes, but he’s also the reason why Harry feels forced to do so. 

 

Harry walks towards the classroom, seeing the door a little open. He doesn’t walk in, just stands there listening. He’s trying to figure out if someone’s in, or if he’s going to be alone. He’s trying to figure out if he’s going to be sitting there with only Finn. 

The class doesn’t start in another 40 minutes and he doesn’t know what he’s doing there so early, but at the same time, he does. He wants to feel this rush that he gets. He wants to feel, he just wants to feel. 

 

Someone’s inside the classroom. It’s a voice Harry doesn’t hear often, but after a moment can place the voice to a face. Jasper. 

“… So I don’t know.”

“Tell me if you need more time to return the assignment,” Finn says. 

“No, I can handle it.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah,” Jasper’s voice is coming closer towards the door. Harry panics and hides behind a corner. 

“Tell me if I can help you with anything,” Finn says, followed with steps in the hallway and out the door of the building. 

 

Harry’s heart is hammering in his chest, fear in his blood for getting caught. He feels like that conversation wasn’t something he was supposed to hear. It was something between Jasper and Finn he has no idea of. But still it rubs him the wrong way. 

Has Finn told others too that he can help them? Is he just like that, offering to help them if they look like they’re in distress? Does he sit close to them too, asking to shake their hands? Harry closes his eyes, wanting to get the green-eyed monster out of him. He can’t think this way. 

 

“So, you help others too?” Is the first thing that comes out of Harry’s mouth when he steps into the classroom. He thought he could contain himself, but apparently not. 

Finn looks startled, sitting by his desk. He’s writing something into a notebook but drops the pen when he sees Harry. 

“You’re not my only student,” he says back, his face hard and his eyes cold. 

Harry swallows, hard, hoping Finn can’t hear it. He goes to sit in his place, taking out his own books and a pencil. He starts to draw immediately, filling out the small squares on the page of his notebook. 

 

“Are you admitting you need help?” Finn asks after a moment of silence. His question makes Harry’s hands shake. He keeps on drawing but changes the movement of his hand to circles, like that would somehow relax him. 

“I’m not saying anything,” Harry retorts, waiting for Finn to say something. He doesn’t. 

 

“So why does he need help?” Harry asks instead, annoyed that Finn is ignoring him. What is this? He hates that he needs to get Finn’s attention, but here he is waiting to get it. It annoys him to the core to feel like he needs any attention in the first place.

“That’s between me and Jasper,” Finn sighs. Harry can hear him writing something in his notebook, the pen scribbling over the paper and lifting off every few seconds.

 

Harry’s own hand stops. These strong feelings must mean something. This moment has to mean something. But why is it toward his teacher who is older than him? Not much but still. Why does he feel the need to be the only one who can have the opportunity to talk about his problems to Finn? Like he’d own Finn. Like he’d even say anything about anything. Why now? Why this person?

Other students start to come in. Harry discreetly checks if Jasper comes through the door. He doesn’t.

 

The same dance continues for the next classes too. Finn sits by his desk, Harry comes into the classroom to draw circles with his shaky hand into his notebook. They don’t talk, but there’s an uncomfortable silence surrounding them. 

Harry craves Finn’s attention but doesn’t get it. And he doesn’t do anything to get it either. He sits there, afraid to look at Finn. He just waits for something to happen, waits for something to click. But that click doesn’t happen.

Nothing happens.

And he doesn’t know why he keeps doing this odd ritual.

 

After a night of not sleeping, but staring at the shadows of his blinds against his wall, Harry walks into to the classroom. It’s empty. Finn hasn’t been here; his bag is not hanging from the back of the chair. His books aren’t on the desk. But the door was ajar.

Harry sits down, listens to the sounds of the building. He hears nothing. It’s an old building, and there are tons of different classes going on at the same time. He still can’t hear any of them in the classroom.

There’s a silent thud, followed by shushes and giggles. Harry turns towards the sound, behind him. He hasn’t seen it before, a door in the back of the room. It’s made out of dark wood, and against the white walls, it’s hard not to miss. But he has never noticed it like this before.

Behind it is a secret. He can tell. Someone’s in there.

 

He doesn’t notice standing up until his fingertips are lightly running against the rows of desks and his feet are carrying him across the room. There are no sounds until he gets closer. Whispers. Barely audible, but there.

His hand reaches towards the door, towards the handle, but it starts to tremble. His mind fills with doubt. He shouldn’t do this, he already knows he’s not going to like what he sees. He shouldn’t. But his hand touches the door handle and slowly presses down.

The door opens. A cloud of warm air wafts over Harry. They all stare at each other. Harry, frozen in place. Jasper with his shirt on the floor and his hands against Finn’s chest. Finn’s hands on Jasper’s waist, his fingers pressing into Jasper’s soft skin.

 

Harry is the first to move. He looks away, towards the windows. He feels his eyes filling with tears that aren’t supposed to be there. He blinks and feels them running down his cheeks. He has to turn around and for once his body does as he wants. 

He walks slowly to his chair, contemplates if he should sit down or not and decides not to. He picks up his bag and jacket and leaves. He reaches the door and he hears the two whispering fiercely, stopping him for a moment.

 

“Harry?” Finn asks. Harry can hear him walking towards him.

“You saw nothing,” Finn doesn’t ask it, or order it, he plainly states it. Harry walks out the door and wipes the tears that don’t seem to stop. When he fills his lungs with fresh winter air, he realises it. He’s not jealous of Finn helping others, Jasper... 

He’s jealous because for some reason helping meant sneaking around with Finn. Now he’s not the one doing it with Finn. Jasper gets to sneak around, and Harry is someone who craves it but can’t say anything.

He needs to get out of that course. He needs to get rid of this feeling. He needs to make it stop.

\- -

Out of habit, he walks to Finn’s classroom. He stands behind the door and stops. He didn’t mean to come today, but now he finds himself here. He didn’t take himself out of the course, rather he came up with excuses why he should keep going.

You’re already halfway through the course, it’d be a waste to drop out.  
You have started to learn something in there.

He doesn’t want to admit the biggest reasons or spell them out for himself. But he knows they’re there, the reasons that involve Finn.

 

The door isn’t open. But it’s not locked either, so Harry walks in. He’s expecting to be greeted by an empty classroom. Finn is sitting in his chair behind his desk. He’s holding his pen between both of his thumb and forefinger, looking like he’s deep in thought. He’s facing the door like he would’ve been waiting for Harry.

They don’t say anything to each other. Harry bravely looks at him, until it becomes unbearable and he looks down at his feet. He sits in his own place.

 

It’s different this time. He doesn’t take out his books. He doesn’t draw into his notebook. He just stares at the surface of his desk and feels like a six-year-old who has gotten detention. 

Finn isn’t doing anything either. He’s not writing in his notebook. He just sits still, the pen between his hands. Slowly he turns in his swivelling chair from side to side, like a child who can’t sit still.

 

“Why did you come back?” Finn suddenly asks. Harry can’t prepare to hear his voice and gets startled by it.

“I’m on this course, I think I can study especially because I’m a student in this university,” Harry feels the tightness of his voice in his throat. It makes him want to choke, but he makes the words come out by miracle.

“Of course,” Finn sighs, silence filled with tension falling between them once again.

 

“When you talked to me the last time, you asked or said or... that I help others too...” Finn sounds like he’s thinking out loud more than really talking to Harry. His words make Harry’s heart beat faster, make him afraid that he already knows. That he can see everything through Harry, every thought and every feeling.

“You didn’t ask me if I was helping others. You were asking if I’m as interested in others as I’m in you.” 

Harry hears Finn stand up. He plants his feet tightly against the floor, his hands pressing together under the table. Finn walks closer, slowly, making Harry hold his breath. He knows Finn is going to sit next to him. He knows Finn is going to turn towards him. He knows Finn will be extremely close.

 

“You were asking if you’re the only one?” Finn finally asks Harry, letting him breathe. He sits down next to Harry, further away than Harry thought he would. He’s just glad Finn is keeping his distance.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry says quietly, not completely relying on it not to break.

“Is that the same when you said you’re fine, even when you’re not?” Harry knows he can’t answer, there’s no reason. Whatever he says will come off wrong. And who is he kidding, he’s not fine. Everyone knows that, even his parents who he wants to hide everything from. And now Finn knows that Harry is jealous.

 

Finn doesn’t move even when Harry’s not saying anything to him. He’s sitting there like a student, like they’d wait for the class to begin together. Harry can hear him breathing calmly, in and out like clockwork. He tries to listen to his own breathing and can only focus on the pain in his chest and throat. He tries to even his breathing with Finn’s, but the more he thinks about it, the harder it gets. 

It’s like walking, it just happens. He’s breathing, and it has been hurting him for a long time now. When he’s trying to make his inhales and exhales more elaborate, the pain becomes unbearable. It starts to remind him of the memories he only allows himself to remember when he’s at home, between those four walls.

 

He stands up abruptly, Finn following him. Harry still can’t look at him, but he feels Finn standing just a little closer than when they were sitting. Harry is breathing through his mouth, his whole body shaking.

“I need to go,” Harry says, taking his backpack and jacket. He doesn’t get far when Finn’s hand wraps around his arm.

“I can still help you if you want. And I don’t mean we have to stand in the book closet. I can help you with your studies if you want. I can listen if you want to talk. That’s all I’m offering.” Harry’s looking at him in the eyes for the first time, seeing how incredibly hard they are. What Finn says is all he means. Nothing more.

 

Finn let’s go of his arm, slowly his fingers unwrapping around Harry’s bicep. Harry feels Finn’s hand on his skin for the rest of the day, seeing the imprints on his skin as red and blue, even though there’s nothing there.

\- - 

Harry is thinking about it too much, obsessing over it. He reads Finn’s email from many weeks ago over and over, trying to find something clearer in the whole situation.

The only clearer point he can find is in himself. He likes his teacher. He likes the way his teacher looks at him and he likes the way his teacher talks to him.

He likes that someone sees he’s not doing well.

He’s not alone.

 

That’s what confuses him. If this is all just in his head and if this is all just some sort of relief he’s feeling. That he’s not necessarily alone, even though he feels alone all the time. There’s someone who sees him and his struggles.

He tries to talk himself out of it, but his feelings get even stronger. The more he tries to stop himself, the harder it is for him to let go. It’s like having a sugar addiction. He promises himself this is the last time thinking about Finn. He lets himself enjoy the mental image, devour it, until he gets enough. He almost feels sick when he snaps out of it, like he’d come to his senses. _It’s not good for you_ , he thinks. _It’s not acceptable_ , he convinces. 

He promises himself he’s going to stop thinking about Finn and move on. But then a new day arrives and he’s feeling the symptoms of withdrawal. He tries to fight it as long as he can, but he becomes weaker. And the weaker he is, the more he wants to think about Finn, fantasise about him. And he does. Afterwards, he makes a new promise to stop doing this to himself. Until the next day, he breaks it again.

 

Sitting in class is the worst. It’s like a masochistic torturing devise for him. He sits there and lets himself look at Finn for five seconds at a time. Everything adds up to the fantasy he can play like a movie in his head with some extra spices added in. Like Finn throwing everyone out of the classroom so he can kiss Harry. Or taking him into the book closet in the back of the classroom. Everything adds up to the thoughts that don’t want to leave him alone.

Harry takes it like he’s supposed to. He doesn’t let anything show. He’s cold as ice, playing nonplussed. Nothing gets to him, he’s invincible. Until he’s not.

 

“Okay, let’s talk about Shakespeare,” Finn announces, and Harry feels like he could pass out. He thinks about the note between Romeo & Juliet, and how he still remembers every word he wrote on it. Every letter in the words he wrote hurt him in their own way. How stupid can he be for not being able to let go.

“Romeo & Juliet is the love story everyone knows, and the story defines us,” a girl somewhere in the back says. People chuckle, and Harry feels bad for the girl. Not because he thinks she’s right, she’s not, but because she feels that way. She feels a connection to the story, no one can judge her.

“Well, in my opinion, Hamlet is much more important than Romeo & Juliet,” a boy answers her.

“We can all have opinions, but what did they mean for literature at the time? What about now, how do these stories affect our modern literature?” Finn asks, and everyone go quiet.

People start to give him answers but Harry is lost. His mind is lost somewhere where he can’t reach it. Somewhere in dreamland where Benjamin reads Romeo & Juliet and smiles and doesn’t cry. Harry is there with him, waiting for him to change, but all he gets is sunshine and warmth.

 

“Harry?” He hears Finn’s voice close to him. Just like that, he’s back in the classroom, but he’s alone. He’s alone with Finn.

“The class ended five minutes ago,” he says, eyeing Harry oddly.

“Sorry, I was... I got... I was deep in thought,” Harry stammers, knowing that his voice sounds desperate.

 

“Is everything okay?”

“We both know the answer to that question,” Harry suddenly says, not waiting for his brain to register the words that come out of his mouth. For once Finn is speechless.

“You know you can talk to me if you want,” Finn reminds Harry when he’s walking out the door.

“Yeah yeah,” Harry says under his breath, not bothering to turn towards Finn. This is all too much.

\- - 

Harry wonders how he’ll spend his birthday this year. Only a few weeks left and he’s older. He spent his last birthday in his room. The only time he came out of his room was when he went to get breakfast that his mum had prepared. She had made a cake and a brunch style table setting with fruits and juices and bread rolls and croissants and jams.

It was a month after Benjamin left. He spoke once with Benjamin’s mum after the incident, but neither of them planned to keep in touch. It was a good and understandable decision. Why should two strangers stay in touch, even when they love the person that connects them.

 

Anytime someone came into Harry’s room, he pretended to be fine. He smiled and laughed at the jokes that his family told him. All the happy memories just hurt him because he couldn’t stop thinking about Benjamin. He was so head over heels in love with Benjamin that everything else seemed bland. Even his own memories seemed bland.

He kept playing guitar in the corner of his room and his dad came in to listen to him. He swayed to the music and smiled calmly. He said something, but Harry blocked it out. He was only thinking about Benjamin, who had swayed to his guitar playing as well.   
When Benjamin listened to him, it was like they were in a magical world. It was just them and no one else, everything else kind of disappeared around them. There was just music and calmness. Harry loved those moments.

When he was left alone, he didn’t smile or remember happy memories from his earlier birthdays. He was thinking back to his conversations with Benjamin. He was trying to figure out if there were signs of what happened to him. What made it all happen. And there was a moment.

 

“Why is Romeo & Juliet your favourite? Isn’t it kind of dramatic?” Harry asked while he was wrapped in Benjamin’s arms. He listened to Benjamin’s heart beat slowly in Benjamin’s chest and closed his eyes to savour the moment.

“I and my ex liked it. He got me into literature in the first place,” Benjamin chuckled, making Harry look him in the eyes.

“Were you together for long?”

“We knew each other since we were kids. But we didn’t realise our feelings until we were fifteen or something...” Benjamin’s eyes drifted towards the window. They were in a dark room and the window was covered with a curtain. The night time was the scariest when there was only darkness on the other side of the window.

 

“You were together for long then?” Harry asked again, hoping it’d be okay for him to ask about it. 

“A few years.”

“Why did you break up?” Harry never got an answer. Benjamin was already somewhere else.

 

“He loved those hopeless love stories that didn’t have a future. Romeo & Juliet was his favourite because he felt like he was both of them and he wanted to fight for the both of them. But he was also ready to give up hope,” Benjamin’s voice was strangled. 

He spoke and looked towards the corner of the room. The bedside lamp was on, creating a golden halo around Benjamin’s face. Harry listened to him and his heart beat even slower than it already was.

But Harry never found out what had really happened. Or he did, but he didn’t want to think about it. He only saw Benjamin and his broken soul.

\- - 

Harry stares at the words he has typed.

_I’m struggling, and I need help._

He has been staring at the words for a long time now, maybe even days. When he looks at the clock it has only been about 20 minutes. He should get going. He needs to get to Finn’s class.

 

He first deletes Finn’s email address from the address bar and then the words. Help. Need. I. And. Struggling. I’m.

The email field is empty. He closes his laptop and leaves, his mind going in circles.

 

He’s the only one in the classroom. The door is closed and when he opens it, there’s no one. The lights are off and there are no sounds. This stars to remind him of the last time he thought he was alone. He turns towards the book closet, listening carefully. No sounds. He leaves his bag and coat on his place and walks quietly towards the door.

He presses his palms against the wooden surface. Slowly he brings his ear closer to the door and listens. Nothing. He tries the handle and it turns. There’s no one.

It’s just a small dark room.

 

He steps in and turns on the lights. It smells musty between the bookshelves that are tightly packed with different stories. He runs his fingers over the backs of the books, seeing older ones and newer ones. He picks out a thick book that doesn’t have a name in the back, it has faded away. 

He starts to browse through it, seeing that it’s filled with poems. Older ones, that have older language. He reads some of them, but his mind doesn’t let him focus enough to understand them completely. He puts the book back and continues reading the backs to find something else interesting. 

 

He takes out Alice in Wonderland, that looks like an older copy as well. He opens the first page and it takes him straight back to his childhood. His dad used to read Harry and his sister books after dinner, as a reward for helping to clear the table and put the dishes away. That’s what they always did after dinner, it was his and his sisters job, because their mum and dad set the table. It was like that until they moved out. 

He remembers liking all the books his dad read. He was always excited to sit with him on the couch and listen, while his dad turned the pages for him and his sister to follow. He can almost hear his dad’s voice in his head when he reads the first few lines of the book now in his hands. 

 

“Alice in Wonderland,” Finn’s voice brings Harry back into the book closet. He startles, almost dropping the book. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Finn smiles, turning back. 

“I’m… I’m struggling!” Harry stammers, his voice strained. He has been thinking about it too much and it’s not helping that whenever he’s around Finn he loses all the filters that would somehow help him choose his words more carefully. Finn stops and faces Harry slowly. 

“I’m not sure what I’m doing,” Harry says more quietly, swallowing hard. He hopes he could just close the door and stay there, hidden for the duration of the class. 

Finn looks at him with a serious expression on his face. But his eyes have turned softer, more mellow, encouraging Harry to speak. But Harry doesn’t know what else to say. He just said what he has been thinking since he started last autumn. 

 

“How don’t you know what you’re doing?” 

“I just don’t,” Harry feels a wave of frustration wash over him but at least he’s trying to keep his voice even. 

“When did you start your studies?” Finn asks, taking a step forward. Harry feels like the mood has changed between them once again. He feels like such a child, like a weak little person who can’t face his own problems. And that’s his problem. 

He’s too scared to face them because he knows they might wreck him. He knows they’re too big to keep inside, but he doesn’t know what to do anymore. Everything reminds him of Benjamin, who reminds him of his troubles. Benjamin is the starting point for everything. 

 

There are voices in the hallway until they fill the classroom. None of the other students see Finn or Harry and the students break their little bubble like there would’ve never even been a bubble. Harry pushes the book back into the shelf, having to work it in between two other books. He walks past Finn, shouldering him roughly to get past him. He turns to apologise, but stops himself, because he feels like he might combust. 

Finn looks tempestuous. Not in a bad way. Just in an incredibly intense way. His cheeks are pink, and his lips are blood red and his eyes are as blue as ice. 

 

The look on his face makes the jealousy creep into Harry’s mind. He can’t stop thinking about his daydreams about his teacher. Or how he was standing in the closet, like he would’ve been waiting to be found by Finn. Like he’d play with his… something, definitely not with destiny, but with _something_. Maybe his mind, so he can get more material for his fantasies. 

This might’ve been the worst idea he has ever acted upon, even when it wouldn’t have been an idea in the first place. Just a thought that he wanted to check out. But even the thought of Finn taking another step forward and closing the door after himself makes Harry’s stomach flood with warmth that he hasn’t felt since Benjamin. 

He sits in his place and for the first time looks at Finn for more than five seconds. He’s breaking his own rules, knowing that he’s playing with fire. Finn never misses Harry’s eyes on him, and his face always breaks into a glowing blush. 

\- -

Harry arrives a bit later than usual. Finn is already there, writing something and flipping through a stack of papers. First, he doesn’t even see Harry, until Harry knocks on the doorframe.

 

“Is it okay if I come in already?”

 

“When have you asked for permission earlier?” Finn keeps on working, reading something and then writing something in his notebook.

 

He has a point. Harry has never asked, but now he’s standing still and hoping Finn would ask him to walk in. It doesn’t even mean anything, but in a way, it does. For some reason that would mean Finn wants him to be there, no matter what. Harry shakes his head slowly, invisibly so Finn doesn’t see it. He has to let go of this. He needs to find an end point to his thoughts. 

He has come up with a piece of conversation in his mind and how it could go. He has somehow concluded what Finn would answer and that’s how Harry will find his peace and can finally move on.

 

When he wanted a change at the beginning of the year, he didn’t really think it would involve having a huge crush on his teacher. And he didn’t plan to think about Benjamin so much but here he is, thinking about Benjamin and Finn at the same time. He’s almost comparing the two to each other, like that would somehow help him. But also, he lets himself do that because he hadn’t been with anyone before Benjamin. He has no one else to compare Finn to other than Benjamin.

 

“Can you see it?” Harry asks quietly, sitting down.

“See what?”

“That there’s something wrong?”

“Yes,” Finn doesn’t even look at Harry when he talks, he’s more into his papers. Harry doesn’t mind, it just makes this easier for him.

“How?”

Finn stops writing and sets the pen down carefully. He leans back in his chair, slowly daring to look up to look Harry in the eyes.

“You can’t, it’s just a trick... you don’t know anything,” Harry lets his voice rise. This is going according to plan. 

He’s going to be a little angry and then it’ll be over. Then he’ll walk out, get himself out of the course because he doesn’t see eye to eye with the teacher and he can put all of this behind him. Harry just needs to be angry and everything will be fine.

 

“No, it’s not. But I don’t want to sound like I’m putting you into a box labelled with one word. Like you said, I don’t know you.” Harry’s plan goes to hell. 

Finn is staring at him and Harry has promised himself not to look away. He needs to show Finn how he’s not this young guy who gets swept away by his emotions. He’s a student and students and their teachers aren’t supposed to have any other relations other than student-teacher ones.

 

“You already kind of did put me into one box,” Harry is glad his head is still working. He says it coldly like he’d blame Finn for this, for putting Harry into a mental box with a label even Harry doesn’t know about. There’s a lot of labels that fit him, but which one did Finn choose?

“I know...” Finn sighs and looks away, and out the window. Harry would like to jump up and cheer because he won! Like they would’ve had a staring competition. It’s just better to think that way other than about Finn looking at him longingly and lustfully. 

 

“It’s okay to have a hard time,” Finn looks back at Harry and Harry knows all his confidence chips away. He feels himself crumbling, he feels himself _feeling_. 

“I know,” he swallows, hoping he’s not showing any signs of weakness. 

“And it’s okay to admit it. Harry, you’re trying to be someone you’re not. I can see that.” Finn stands up and takes slow steps until he’s leaning against the desk in front of Harry. 

“You don’t know me,” Harry defends himself, knowing that he can’t hide behind a hard exterior. Finn can see. He’s not blind. He sees Harry. 

“I know that too. But I think you don’t even know yourself.” 

 

When Harry doesn’t say anything, Finn pulls a chair for himself and sits opposite Harry. Their knees knock together. Harry tries to sit still, but he can’t. He tries to breathe evenly, but he can’t. And he tries to keep his eyes on Finn, but he can’t. Finn is sitting so close that he can see every small detail on his face. The birthmark on the side of his left brow, the freckles on his nose, the brownish undertones of his blue eyes and the softness of his lips. 

Harry stares at his hands because he doesn’t want to stare at Finn’s lips. At least then Finn will really know what’s going on. 

“I’m serious… I can help you. You can talk to me or ask for tutoring or anything. I’d be happy to help if that’s what you need and want.” His hands are close to Harry’s hands on the table. Harry’s eyes shift from looking at his own hands to looking at Finn’s hands and he starts to wonder what they feel like. If they’re warm, if they’re hard if they’re soft, if they’re strong. 

 

“There’s nothing you can do for me,” Harry tells him, almost breathing the words out. 

“You sure?” Harry sees the way his fingers reach towards Harry’s hands. Harry waits for them to touch his skin. He closes his eyes like he’d be listening to a lullaby. A lullaby of words that at the same time hurt and destroy, and cure and repair.

Finn’s fingers walk over Harry’s hand, and travel over his wrist, up his arm, until his palm is firmly against Harry’s neck. 

 

“Harry?” Finn asks, his thumb encouraging Harry to look up. Harry keeps his eyes closed when he lifts his chin. Slowly he dares to open his eyes. Finn looks thoughtful like he wouldn’t know what to think even though his head is full of thoughts. 

Harry can see him leaning closer. Slowly, waiting for Harry to pull away. But he doesn’t. He leans in, he can feel his own breath hitching in his throat like he wouldn’t have lungs anymore. Everything he has been thinking bursts in his head explodes into confetti that makes him take Finn’s hand into his own and rush their lips to touch. 

 

It ends too soon when they hear voices from the hall. Finn pulls away, his eyes wild and his cheeks flaming. He stands up quickly, breathing erratically. Students start to pour in just as Finn gets to his own desk. People sit down, and Finn turns towards them. 

Harry looks at him under his brow, his fingers touching his lips like he wouldn’t believe what just happened. Well he can’t believe it. But it did happen. Finn tries to tame his hair above his ear, his eyes on Harry the whole time. Harry touches his own hair and feels them standing up. He combs them with his fingers, his cheeks warm with pink. 

 

“Today we’re doing something different. I want you to write me a short essay and reflect on everything you’ve learnt here. I want you to think about your own history with literature and compare that to the things we’ve learnt here.” 

Harry hears people sighing around him, like this would be the worst thing to happen. 

“This is not an exam or a test, just write down your thoughts. What I want you to focus on is literature. I want you to find points from literature that you can connect with your own life. I’m handing you paper and you can start right away,” Finn takes a stack of squared paper from his desk, and Harry sees books next to them. Poetry. This isn’t what they were supposed to do today. 

 

Finn walks around the classroom slowly, watching everyone. Harry can’t come up with anything to write, he’s lost in his thoughts. It wasn’t’ supposed to go like that. He wasn’t supposed to kiss his teacher. He should’ve dropped out of the course long ago, he should’ve done things differently. But he didn’t and now he’s here. 

Finn stops next to Harry. His presence makes Harry nervous, and he closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think about this essay because it’s not working, and he certainly doesn’t want to think about Finn because thinking about him makes everything just messier. 

He hears Finn taking slow steps away and Harry opens his eyes. On his desk, between his arms, on the empty paper lays a piece of paper with numbers. Harry knows exactly what those 10 digits stand for. Harry folds it and puts it in his pocket, feeling heavy with fervour. 

\- -

 

It goes on for long, even though it has only been a few days. And Harry feels something for the first time in a long time. Sneaking around with Finn is exhilarating and exciting. When he’s alone he feels anxious and he doesn’t know how to be. 

It goes on for long, too long. But Harry doesn’t stop it. He likes it too much, even when it’s nothing else than sneaking around and throwing Finn out after they’ve slept together. He lets Finn close but still keeps his distance. 

He feels Finn’s arms around him, even when he’s supposedly sleeping. Finn keeps kissing his shoulder in the dark, and Harry knows what that means. It’s not that he wants another round, no. He wants to get Harry’s attention. And he wants to talk. He wants to know Harry, he wants to get close. Harry doesn’t know what’s scarier. Actually telling Finn things about himself, or Finn knowing things about him. 

 

“You know I had my birthday yesterday” Harry whispers. He’s cocooned in his duvet, facing Finn who gets all the light that streams from the window. 

”Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve celebrated?” Finn looks confused, while he caresses Harry’s hair. 

“It was celebration enough when you came over,” Harry closes his eyes, ready to sleep. 

“Why didn’t you go out with friends or…” Harry’s eyes open at the question and he feels a dark cloud settle over him. 

“Have you actually seen me hanging out with anyone?” 

Finn shakes his head. 

 

“Why don’t you have friends?” 

“I used to have a lot of them. But we just fell out of touch. Now I just enjoy being alone,” Harry hopes that’s enough for now. 

“You enjoy being alone and you call me every evening to come here to keep you company?” Finn smirks the same way that Harry saw the first night they met. On New Years Eve. 

“I think I can enjoy being alone but also have the perks of having a secret thing going on,” Harry chuckles. Finn dives in, his lips against Harry’s neck while he makes Harry fall on his back. 

“Let’s celebrate a bit more,” Finn whispers into his ear, the warmth of his breath tickling Harry. 

 

“You want me to stay over? I could do that you know,” Finn suggests, a twinkle of hope in his eyes. 

“No, you can go,” Harry stands up and walks into the shower. 

He knows Finn will leave while he’s locked into the bathroom. He breathes in the humid air, hearing his door close. He opens his eyes and feels empty, knowing that it’s not because he’s alone, but because he’s being so cold to Finn. 

They’ve been doing this for almost a month now, yet Harry always makes him leave. And he also knows why he’s so cold to Finn. It’s not only because he’s not supposed to be doing this with his teacher. Even thinking about that fact makes his stomach twist because that’s something he’d never thought he’d do and it feels so wrong and so right at the same time. 

No, it’s not that. It’s because he knows it’s not only about liking Finn anymore. It’s something much stronger. He likes to think that Benjamin was his first love. But he never thought his second love would be his teacher. 

\- - 

Harry is standing in the book closet, trying to find something new to read. For some reason, he has gotten a bit more motivated to study. Maybe it has something to do with Finn or maybe it’s just because he has become more relaxed. At least in a way, he feels like he has a friend even though they’re connecting more on a physical level than on emotional level. 

There’s no one else in the classroom and he has left the door only ajar to the closet. He’s sitting on the floor, a few books on his lap. He’s reading the ones his dad read to him and his sister, finding them completely different now that he’s reading them alone. He mouths the words and remembers his own reactions to exciting or dramatic plot twists. 

Someone rushes into the classroom, Harry can only hear heavy breathing and heavy steps that stop on their track. Harry reaches towards the door and pushes it open, seeing Finn with red cheeks and mad eyes. 

 

“You okay?” Harry asks. Finn walks closer, taking elaborate breaths. 

“Yeah, this one professor is just driving me crazy! He thinks he can push everyone around and make us do his job for him.” He steps into the closet and closes the door. 

“I also heard they won’t be renewing my contract for next year, so I have to find another job,” he rubs his palms against his eyes and leans his back against the door. So, he’s leaving? Harry looks at the books and stands up, putting them back into their places. He tries not to think about Finn leaving. What will happen to them then? Or to him and Finn. There’s no them, no us, no we. Just Harry and Finn. 

 

“What were you doing here?” Finn asks and Harry smiles because of the happy memories these books have brought him along the years. 

“I was reading some of the books that my dad used to read to me and my sister when we were younger.” He manages to squeeze the last book into the shelf and he turns towards Finn. He sees the calm smile on Finn’s face, which spreads calmness into his mind as well. Maybe they’ll be fine, even though they’re nothing exclusive or official. 

 

“I didn’t know you have a sister,” Finn walks closer, his arms circling around Harry’s waist. 

“Yeah, she’s a couple of years older.” Harry swallows, a certain memory of Jasper popping into his mind. 

“Maybe not here,” Harry chuckles awkwardly, trying to get free from Finn’s grasp. But Finn doesn’t let go. He pushes Harry against the shelves, his face so close that Harry feels his eyes crossing. 

 

“You were jealous,” Finn laughs quietly, his hands pressed against the small of Harry’s back. 

“No! I’m afraid we’re going to get caught!”

“You’re such a bad liar!” Finn laughs even more, his voice almost annoying Harry. 

“Okay, so what! I don’t want to be one of those who fucks their teacher in school,” Harry tries to push him away, but Finn plants his feet tightly against the floor. 

“But you’re fucking your teacher,” he smirks, leaning back. 

 

“And just so you know, Jasper came onto me, I had nothing to do with that. I was only thinking about one guy,” his smirk softens, and his eyes watch Harry’s reactions. Harry knows Finn is lying, but he wants to believe this story the most. 

“I bet you were thinking about that infuriating professor,” Harry jokes, earning a hearty laugh from Finn. 

“Yeah, he’s my real boyfriend,” Finn’s eyes sparkle, and he kisses Harry deeply, the way that Harry can feel the kiss all over his body. 

Finn just called Harry his boyfriend. All his previous jealousness fades away. Maybe he’ll start giving bits and pieces of him to Finn. Maybe someday he’ll be able to say that he loves Finn. Maybe he can believe the good about Finn. 

\- -

Harry is on his way to his literature history class when he decides to surprise Finn. He has been dropping the _boyfriend_ word even more around Harry and Harry thinks this is really leading up to something. He hasn’t felt this light in a long time. 

He has had the best couple of months with Finn since Benjamin and as it’s equally scary, it’s also the best thing so far. He just wishes he could feel like this without someone making him feel like this. He wishes he could shed the dark thoughts when he’s alone too. He wishes he’d be independent. 

He doesn’t have a lot of time, but just enough to invite Finn over tonight. Maybe they could cook something together and watch a movie. That’s what he’s going to ask. Even though there’s a single word for it; a date. 

 

He rushes up the stairs and takes a deep breath to even his nerves before stepping into the hallway. He walks slowly so he can go through the question in his mind. 

_Hey, I was thinking if you’d like to come over tonight and we could cook or something and then just relax, watch a movie if you like?_

 

The door is ajar, and he can see Finn from the small gap. He almost walks in but gets stopped. Finn’s not alone. 

“Finn, we need to talk about this,” the other man asks. Harry has never seen him, but maybe he’s a teacher here? 

“What is there to talk about, I already said no,” Finn almost yells but then lowers his voice to a cold snarl. 

“I don’t understand you! I ask you to move in with me and you first say yes. Then you change your mind and tell me it’s not the right time yet? We’ve been together for four years, Finn. I was planning to propose to you,” the man sounds pleading, sorrowful. 

 

“You what?” All anger has vanished from Finn’s voice. 

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while already. But all we’ve done for the past couple of months is fight and I don’t understand why… We were doing okay.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m just so stressed about everything and I have a student who I somehow care about and I want to help him, so I stress about him too.” Harry sees Finn walking closer to the stranger. They stand face to face, their hands entwined. 

 

“You care about your students too much,” the man says. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t want it to come between us.” 

“I just want to live with you and make you happy,” the stranger smiles a small smile, his hand cupping Finn’s cheek. 

“I want that too,” Finn’s voice becomes weaker like he’d be crying. 

 

“I love you so much,” Finn says to the stranger, and then the stranger kisses him, just like that. They’re kissing, and Harry sees it all. It’s like someone punches him in the face for being so dumb. How did he even think this would work? How didn’t he know about Finn’s apparent boyfriend/fiancé? 

Of course, he didn’t know because Harry was just someone Finn was sleeping with and he was never anything more. He was never the boyfriend, he was just Finn’s troubled student, who Finn slept with. And cheated his boyfriend with. 

 

Without a sound, Harry leaves. He feels sick but keeps a straight face. While he’s sitting in his lecture, he feels like he might burst with anger. He thinks about somehow getting back at Finn, that he would somehow hurt Finn. But when he thinks about it, it doesn’t make any sense. Finn used him, and Harry let him. Finn was good at what he did and Harry enjoyed it, the rush he got. Now it just needs to end. 

_Can I come to your place this evening?_ , Harry texts Finn and gets a reply almost immediately. 

_Sure! See you later ;)_

Harry wants to throw up, but he swallows his feelings and hides them in his chest. 

\- -

Finn is sleeping, but Harry can’t get any sleep. He laid still for a long time until he decided to get up. He looked at Finn’s bookshelves and saw several pictures of him and the stranger from the classroom. Harry had seen the pictures earlier too, but always thought they must be just friends or maybe relatives. He never thought that would be Finn’s boyfriend. 

Now he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing Finn’s shirt. It’s a white Stone Roses t-shirt, which always looked so good on Finn. Harry doesn’t know why he’s wearing it, he needs to take it off anyway. He’s looking at the picture and thinks about what this shirt means. He has worn it before. After showers they took together Finn always gave him this shirt to wear. It was always clean like it’d be reserved for only Harry. It became his shirt, even though it was Finn’s. 

Now the picture is tainted. The memory is tainted. Everything is tainted. 

 

Harry came here after six. Finn smiled like nothing was wrong. It was just another evening of undressing each other, getting each other off and then lying in bed. Harry felt like something was wrong when he could so easily turn his emotions off. Especially the ones that want him to yell and spew bad words at Finn. 

But he’s just back to being himself before his fall. He’s normal again and he can recognise this person. Everything has just crashed like he would’ve been sugar high for the past couple of months and now he was finally able to not feed his sugar addiction. 

 

“Harry?” He hears Finn’s groggy voice. 

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

“I wasn’t able to,” Harry says, surprised he sounds so strong. He hasn’t been strong, he hasn’t been strong since over a year ago. Love is a tricky thing and apparently, he keeps falling for guys who have too many ghosts or who aren’t good for him. 

 

“Come here,” Finn reaches towards him, his eyes closed. 

“I think I’m going to leave,” Harry says, standing up. 

“What, why? You don’t have to, you can stay here for the night. Please stay,” Finn pleas with a humorous puppy dog face. 

 

“I’m good. I think your boyfriend wouldn’t like it,” Harry says and looks away. He almost hears Finn’s shock.

“What?” 

“Your boyfriend, the guy who came to see you today at the campus. The one who told you he has been planning to propose to you for a while. The one you’re going to move in with,” Harry lists, feeling his blood boiling into nothing. He’s empty. He’s too tired to care. He’s too alone to feel broken. 

It has been like this for a long time. Nothing new there. But this time it feels a bit different, just a hint. Like this time, he can’t do this alone. Like this time, he can’t just lock himself in his apartment. This time he needs someone there with him. 

 

“Harry, you’ve understood something wrong…” Finn stops talking when Harry stands up and wears his hoodie over the t-shirt. He knows he shouldn’t take it, but he does. Maybe to remind himself to be stronger in the future. 

“Harry, wait, I can explain,” Finn follows him naked. Harry pulls on his shoes and jacket, checking he has everything he had when he arrived. He turns to Finn, who looks like he has lost his memory. 

“Don’t try to contact me,” Harry tells him, before kissing Finn hard. It’s a quick kiss, but something that should be accompanied with ‘I love you’ rather than ‘leave me alone’. 

“Harry!” Finn pleads, but Harry turns his back to the man who just hurt him. 

 

Harry closes the door and almost runs down the stairs, not able to take the lift. He needs to move. The cool air blows through him and clears his mind. 

He’s truly alone. And lonely. He filled a hole in his heart with Finn and now he feels himself crumbling even worse than he already was. He keeps on walking, but he feels like drowning. 

Finally, when he doesn’t know where he is and what he’s doing, he takes out his phone. With shaky hands, he finds the right number and calls. He knows it’s late; it’s almost two in the morning. But he knows that his dad will always pick up the phone, no matter what time his children call him. 

it takes only a few rings before his dad’s rough voice sounds through the other end. 

 

“Dad?” Harry asks, and he bursts into tears. 

“Harry? What has happened?” He sounds worried and Harry wants to stop crying, but he can’t. The more he tries to stop, the harder he cries. 

“I need help, dad, I need help. I can’t do this alone,” he says, and a ten-tonne weight is lifted off his shoulders. 

For the first time in over a year, he feels like his lungs might work after all.


	2. Louis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist 
> 
> **Chapter 2:**  
>  Phantogram / Answer   
> Arcade Fire / Everything Now (continued)  
> Villagers / Nothing Arrived (live)  
> The Killers / Some Kind Of Love   
> Daughter / Flaws   
> Sleigh Bells / Run The Heart   
> Sleigh Bells / Kids   
> Taylor Swift / New Year's Day

“Just take them upstairs, thanks,” Louis tells Liam before he can even ask where the box is going.

“Where upstairs?”

“There’s a room in the end of the hallway, with the dresser,” Louis waves his hand in the air, making a mental map for Liam.

“Okay,” Liam keeps on going, carrying the box in his hands like it could drop any second.

 

Louis stands in the kitchen and sighs. 31 and he finally owns his first own home. He always thought this day would come much later, but no, it’s here already! 

He has been working hard towards this for years. Not having to rent an apartment but to live in a house of his own is like gold to him.

 

Niall walks in carrying another heavy looking box.

“I think this is the last book box?” Niall is clearly struggling.

“Okay, take it into the living room,” Louis follows Niall and clears him a spot in front of the bookshelves they assembled just a couple of hours earlier.

 

A loud clatter echoes from upstairs, making Niall and Louis look up like they could see through the ceiling.

“Everything okay up there, Liam?” Louis asks, listening for more sounds.

“Yeah!” Liam answers, but his voice is odd.

“Just come here, Louis, and bring a hammer with you!” They hear Liam’s voice.

 

“Hammer?” Niall asks out loud, but only from Louis. Whatever it is, it apparently needs hammering. Louis shrugs and takes the appliance with him, leaving Niall with the book boxes.

“Just open them and start to put them on the shelves in alphabetical order,” Louis tells him, already on the stairs going up. He can hear Niall muttering something in the lines of “that’s easier said than done”, which makes Louis smile.

 

He reaches the room at the end of the hallway. Liam is holding a panel and standing in front of the dresser, looking confused.

“What is that?” Louis asks him, trying to figure out where it’s from.

“I accidentally hit my foot against the bottom of the dresser and this just fell down,” he looks at the wooden panel and then kneels down. He fits the panel against the bottom of the dresser, but the piece of wood keeps falling off. 

 

“How is that even possible?” Louis asks, kneeling down next to him, and trying to see if there’s nails or something to keep the panel in place. As he’s looking to see connection points, he notices something else.

Between the floor and the dresser, there’s a gap. And there’s a box.

“What is that?” Louis asks, making Liam bend down as well.

“Looks like an old shoe box?” Liam sounds like what they’ve just found is nothing important, but all Louis can think is what the hell is a shoebox doing under the dresser behind a panel of wood.

 

Louis reaches towards the box with the hammer and pulls it closer.

“Don’t touch it!” Liam exclaims, looking shocked.

“What, why?”

“What if there’s a dead rat inside? Or some poison for mice?”

“There’s no mice or rats in this house,” Louis rolls his eyes, turning the box around. It doesn’t feel too heavy and when he takes it into his hands, it feels like it’s mostly empty. At least there are no shoes.

 

“Are you sure?” Liam questions, moving further away from Louis.

“Yes, because that would’ve been informed in the papers I got. There has been no exterminator ordered here, just a plumber a couple of times. And a chimney sweeper,” he lists, his curiosity taking over. The box is taped closed, but he only needs some scissors and then he’ll see what’s inside.

“I think it has been left behind on purpose,” Louis wonders out loud, turning the box in his hands. He shakes it a little, making the contents rattle.

 

“I think you shouldn’t open it,” Liam says, his head tilted, and his brows pulled together.

“Why not?”

“It’s not yours, you don’t know what’s inside and I think it’s none of your business to know what’s inside.”  
Liam’s words make Louis frown only because he’s right. Louis has no right to open the box, no matter if it’s in his house and it has been left behind.

“Yeah, okay, let’s throw it away,” Louis stands and throws the box away. He looks at it in the black plastic trash bag, like he’s throwing someone’s life away. He closes the bag and takes it downstairs next to the door to throw it out with the rest of the trash bags.

 

They keep on unboxing all of Louis’ things and soon he notices the house is really big for only one person. His books, furniture and life feel small in the huge home, that could house at least four people.

“To Louis, the best and probably the youngest political history professor in London!” Niall cheers and pops the champagne. Louis blushes at his friends, laughing when Liam grabs his shoulders and shakes him.

“You are a homeowner! How does that feel?” Liam keeps jumping like a small child. He has always made Louis laugh, no matter what.

“Pretty damn good,” Louis takes a glass Niall is offering and they clink them together.

 

“You have to have a huge housewarming party when you’re done unpacking,” Liam reminds him, winking.

“Oh Liam, you don’t even know what you’re in for,” Louis wraps his arm around Liam’s shoulders.

“And the New Year’s Eve parties!” Liam exclaims.

“Halloween parties,” Niall looks as excited as Liam, his eyes wide and his mouth curved into a permanent smile.

“Let’s not rush into this yet, it’s only November,” Louis reminds them, releasing Liam and walking around the living room. He can already see all the parties and get together he can have there.

 

When Liam and Niall have left after having dinner with Louis, he comes back home and organises his bookshelf. All his history and travel books look pathetic on the wide shelves. At least he has all the stories that he goes back to every time he wants to travel to another world. All the stories that were his favourite when he grew up. 

Everything has their place in his new home like they would’ve always belonged there. He watches a movie from his laptop, making a list at the time same time for what he has to remember to do. The first thing on that list is to buy a new TV.

He goes to bed, but can’t close his eyes. He keeps thinking about the box. It’s now outside with the rest of the trash like it wouldn’t matter at all. At least to him, the box doesn’t really matter, but it might be important to the person who it once belonged to.

 

He doesn’t want to go through his trash bags at two in the morning, but the more he thinks about not doing it, the more he wants to do it.

“Fuck it,” he whispers and gets out of bed. He puts on whatever clothes he can find from the boxes he didn’t unpack yet. He should’ve done that first, not the books.

 

The streets are empty, just a few cars drive by. He tries his best to keep quiet because he feels like everyone can hear him. He touches a trash bag and it makes such a loud rustling noise that he thinks half of London will know who is going through their trash at night. He keeps his eyes open to see if anyone walks past him, but there’s no one.

He opens a bag, and nothing. He opens the second one, still nothing. There are six bags in total and he starts to lose his patience when by the fifth bag the box doesn’t show up. He opens the last one, and still nothing. He pulls aside paper and bubble wrap, plastic and everything he didn’t want to keep. He reaches the bottom of the last bag and his hand touches something he knows isn’t his.

 

He pulls the box out of the black plastic bag and keeps it in his hands like he would’ve found a treasure. He ties the bags closed and goes back inside with the box tightly under his arm. He can’t sleep now. He’s nervous and excited to see the box on his dining room table, but he’s unsure if he should open it. It’s not his, like Liam said. He doesn’t want to go through someone else’s things when he has no right to do so. And what if there’s something that he doesn’t want to see, what if it’s someone’s goodie box? He stands back and stares at the box with his arms crossed over his chest.

What if it’s something that someone forgot to take with them? What if it’s something that someone wants to get back? He won’t know what is inside if he doesn’t look. He also won’t know who to return the things to if he doesn’t look.

 

He takes out scissors and stops just before he’s about to cut the first tape. He holds his hand against the lid and stares at it. If he does this, there’s no turning back.

 

He cuts the tape. And the second and third, leaving the fourth one intact so he doesn’t lose the lid.

He takes a breath and opens the box.

Romeo & Juliet.  
A small piece of paper with someone’s number.  
An old The Stone Roses shirt.  
A post-it note.

He looks at them, almost underwhelmed. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but in a way, he was expecting to find something grand and marvellous! Not something that is just random and... normal.

 

He picks up the book. It looks old, one of those that has been read a lot and could break apart in his hands. He notices something between the pages. He opens the book and finds a note in a small envelope. He doesn’t know if he should take it. But he does.   
He feels guilty for being this nosey, but no one is here, and no one can stop him. Of course, he could stop himself, but what would be the point then? He has already looked inside the box, he has already dived into someone’s personal belongings.

These are someone’s things. He drops the card on the table. He can’t open it because this is someone’s life he’s holding in his hands. Or at least a part of it. He looks at the box, finally realising what it actually is; a time capsule. He found someone’s treasured memories, that weren’t even supposed to be found yet.

 

He tucks the card back into the book and puts the book back into the box. He closes the lid and somehow hopes he could un-see it all. He shouldn’t have opened it, because it wasn’t his to open in the first place. He feels a bang of guilt hitting him hard.

He leaves the box on the table and almost runs upstairs and into his bed. He hopes he can just fall asleep and forget that this ever happened. He closes his eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. The more he thinks about sleeping, the more awake he is. So, he thrashes and turns until he finds a good place to just lay. On his back, his eyes towards the ceiling, and his thoughts on the box downstairs.

 

What do they all mean? Did they belong to someone who just likes artistic things? Someone’s favourite memories? Worst memories? Why did someone want to make a time capsule like that? Did the person who put it together think it through properly or did the person just throw things inside until they thought it was enough?

He keeps coming up with questions until they blend with dreams.

 

\- - 

 

Louis wakes up with a sore neck. He’s spread on the bed like a starfish, and his head is half on his pillow, half on the mattress. He stretches his sore muscles, cursing his lack of gym activity even though he has a membership. Maybe he’ll start going. 

He has a house and homeowners usually do things that are good and responsible. Or at least that’s how he has always seen homeowners. Maybe he’s not one of those who wakes up at five in the morning to get to the gym. Maybe he’s just going to be lazy and go to the gym once or twice a week. He’ll figure it out eventually when he has time. He just moved in for goodness sake! He still hasn’t unpacked everything, and he needs to prioritise right now!

The box. Suddenly he’s more than awake. He goes downstairs, nervous to see if the box is still there. And there it is, where he left it, on the dining table. He keeps his eye on it, but leaves it be until he gets breakfast. He makes tea and toast, checking that the box is still there. It is.

 

He eats his breakfast in peace, going through his social media and trying to plan his day. He mostly has to unpack and organise and clean. But the time capsule in front of him is now becoming even more important than any of the other things. Who does it belong to? How old is it?

 

Louis: _I might’ve done something bad..._

Niall: _What?!_

Louis: _Remember the box I found upstairs?_

Niall: _What box?_

Louis: _Liam accidentally removed a wooden panel from the bottom of the dresser upstairs and we found an old shoe box underneath._

Niall: _What!? Why didn’t I know anything about this??_

Louis: _I don’t know, you weren’t there with us when we found it?_

Liam: _DON’T TELL ME YOU OPENED IT?!_

Louis: _I might’ve?_

Liam: _But you threw it away?_

Louis: _Yeah, but then I went to save it_

Liam: _It’s not saving when we’re talking about trash... Would you “save” your old toothbrush if you would’ve already thrown it away? No!_

Louis: _This wasn’t a toothbrush though!_

Niall: _You opened the box, what was inside?_

Liam: _I can’t believe you did it..._

Louis: _There was an old shirt, a post it, someone’s number, and a copy of Romeo & Juliet_

Liam: _You serious?_

Niall: _Sounds romantic ;)_

Louis: _Shut up..._

Liam: _Whose number is it?_

Louis: _Look who is interested now, Mr. Throw it away, it’s none of your business, you can’t save things from the trash..._

Liam: _It’s still none of your business though_

Louis: _Yeah, I know, but I couldn’t help myself! I had to know!_

Niall: _What about the number, you didn’t figure out who it belongs to?_

Louis: _No, and I don’t think I will_

Niall: _What if it belongs to the person who put the box there?_

Louis: _You think someone would’ve left their own number so whoever finds their time capsule can call them?_

Niall: _I don’t know, I think it sounds a bit weird though..._

 

Louis: _What do you think I should I do with this?_

Liam: _Throw it away_

Louis: _Mood killer_

Niall: _You could always do a bit of research and find it who put it there?_

Niall: _I just think it’d be pretty romantic if the person would turn out to be someone really cool and then you’d fall in love_

Liam: _*pop*, I just popped your dream bubble BC THAT NEVER HAPPENS IN REAL LIFE!_

Niall: _IT COULD!_

Louis: _How can I even find someone who left a time capsule behind? What if it’s years old, and the person has died or something? Or they’ve lost their memory or they’re in a home or something?_

Niall: _Why do you think it belongs to someone really old?_

Louis: _How would I know!? I just feel like this could’ve been there for years, like decades..._

Liam: _What if they don’t want it to be found? Or they don’t want to know that it has been found?_

Niall: _Why leave the stuff behind if they don’t want them to be found?_

Louis: _Okay, stop, because that’s just confusing me_

Niall: _You could always ask around? Find someone older who has lived there for a long time, they could know?_

Liam: _Or there could be some records of who have lived there before you? Who built it, who moved in, and who have lived there before the house was sold to you._

Louis: _Sounds complicated_

Liam: _No one said it would be easy..._

Louis: _I know I know..._

Niall: _Do you want to find the person who put the box there?_

Louis: _Honestly I don’t know... I don’t even know what to think right now..._

 

He gets a few more messages after that, but he forgets his phone pretty quickly. He pulls the box closer and opens it. In the light of day, the contents look much more different than during the night. More hopeful, like there are some happy memories behind every item.

He picks up the book. He takes the card out but doesn’t open it. He just browses through the book, trying to find some clues that could lead him to the owner. Nothing.

He goes through it once more, until one page rips off. Louis feels his heart stop beating for a second.

 

“No, no, no, no!” He whisper exclaims, trying to find where it was from. But when he goes through the book for the fifth time, he realises he didn’t rip the page. It had been ripped earlier. And the page isn’t from this copy. The moment is a little creepy like he’s touching something that could start haunting him.

He remembers the time he had to read Romeo & Juliet. It felt like he had already read it because their teacher loved it so much that she didn’t shut up about it. She liked to bring it up at every class and during moments that reminded her of the book. She didn’t leave any details out either. Louis was bored out of his mind when he had to read the book. He did enjoy it though. He thought it was tragic, but nothing too special.

Why is it in the time capsule though? Maybe the person likes the book, or liked since he doesn’t know the person. Maybe the person wanted to save it for the next generation, or maybe not. They could find the book in the library and every bookstore. What about the small card between the book? It has to mean something. He starts to think about reading the book again but abandons that thought pretty quickly. If it’s something extremely personal, then he doesn’t want to know.

 

The shirt. He picks it up and studies it. The fabric has worn down and it looks old in other ways too.  
The picture of a lemon looks faded and the colours are almost gone. The text is cracked and could come off the next time the shirt is washed. He has never listened to the stone roses, but his dad is a fan. Maybe he should give it a listen too.

He folds the shirt and moves onto the next object. The phone number. 

Louis received these many times from different people, and he always managed to lose the numbers. If they weren’t on his phone, he lost them. It was almost a rule and everyone in school and university knew about it. 

Why this number is in the capsule is a mystery. Maybe it belongs to someone who was an old friend, a lover, an enemy? Maybe it’s just someone’s number that the person liked? That’s a silly reason but who is he to judge. 

Louis gave his number once to an old lady because he thought she could give it to the nurse who was taking care of her. It was back when Louis’ grandma was still alive, and the lady was kind of close with Louis’ grandma. The number never found its way to the nurse. The lady kept it for herself and they had long conversations about history and life. Maybe that motivated Louis to apply study history and finally graduate.

The post it is the weirdest in this box. It doesn’t have any writing and the glue part has been cut off. Maybe it was a bookmark, maybe it was supposed to be used for a note, but never got used. He can’t figure the meaning out, so he leaves it be. He looks at the number again and does something irrational.

He types the number on his phone and presses call before he can think it through. The phone doesn’t even ring before he’s informed the number isn’t in use anymore. So that was a dead end.

 

He closes the box and tries to forget it. And he does, at least for a moment. He unpacks his clothes and listens to music, humming along. Next, he unpacks his kitchenware and utensils, plates and glasses, until he doesn’t know where he’s going to put everything.

He finds himself thinking about the time capsule, but he still doesn’t know what to do with it. He thinks about finding out who it belongs to, but Liam’s question bothers him. 

What if the person doesn’t want the capsule to be found? What if the person doesn’t want to know it had been found? Until he figures out if he’s completely sure what to do with it, he decides not to do anything about it. He places it on his bookshelf and puts a few books on top. 

The day goes by and the box really becomes something that he doesn’t really care about. When he sees it, he wonders if he should’ve left it in the trash bag. Yet now that he realises he has it, he knows that it’s something pretty special.

\- -

A couple of weeks go by and Louis starts to seriously think about throwing the box away. Those things do nothing for him and that box is only taking space from the bookshelf. He goes through the items so often that they don’t feel like they belong to someone else. They feel his own. He could make up stories about everything in the time capsule, but he’s no writer and not really good at telling stories.

 

He’s at work when one of his older colleagues ask him to pick up some books from the literature departments book closet. He has never even heard of anything like that, but he does as he’s told. At least he’ll get to see what the building looks like inside since he always just walks past it when he goes to work.

 

The first thing he sees are portraits of all the famous writers that have come from this university. The latest one is Harry Styles, a 29-year-old London born writer, who was nominated for Pulitzer price this year. Louis looks at his black and white picture on the wall and can’t believe that a writer so young has been nominated for a Pulitzer. 

Louis hasn’t read his book, but he knows about it. Everyone was talking about when it came out. It told the story of a boy who was in love with his teacher or something, but that’s all Louis knows about the book. He can’t really believe how incredibly handsome Harry Styles is, right down Louis’ alley.

 

“Excuse me?” He knocks on the door of one of the literature classrooms. Behind a desk sits an older looking woman doing some notes.

“Yes? How can I help you?” She smiles politely, but her voice tells him to hurry.

“Do you have a book closet in this classroom. I was supposed to pick up some books for a colleague,” he steps into the classroom, already seeing the dark door that could only lead him to the secret world of literature. 

 

“Yes, over there,” she points towards the door with his hand, going back to taking notes.

“Thank you,” Louis thanks her quietly, walking over to the dark door. He opens it and is met with the stuffy air of old books. He looks at the list his colleague Martin gave him, and he tries to find all of them from the jungle of books.

 

There’s Romeo & Juliet in the books he needs to find. When he does, after searching for it for a solid 10 minutes, he picks it in his hands. It reminds him of the Romeo & Juliet in his home, in the box next to all the fashion magazines he has saved and not dared to throw away. 

He browses through the book and it doesn’t need a smart person to see that one of the pages has been ripped off. He runs his fingers over the jagged edge of the ripped paper. Could this be exactly the place where the extra page is from? At least he likes to think that way. He gets the books he was supposed to (with a few pictures of the Romeo & Juliet so he can pretend to be part of CSI and compare the ripped edge of the paper to the book in the picture.

He can’t just let the time capsule go. He decides then and there, in the small book closet, that he wants to find out who had left the box in his house. Maybe he’ll find someone, maybe he won’t. At least he can tell himself he tried if nothing else.

 

Louis: _I’m going to find who the time capsule belongs to._

He sighs in relief when he has finally made a decision.

Niall: _Yes, romance here we go!_

Louis: _Stop_

Liam: _I’m not going to say anything because you are going to do whatever you want anyway._

Louis: _That’s correct!_

 

He will find the person who the memories belong to and he will find out if they want to be associated with the box anymore. If not, he’ll just throw it away.

That’s what he’ll do. He hopes his other decisions in life would be this easy as well. But of course, they’re not and he needs to sail through the right and wrong thing to do. For the first time in a while, he’s completely sure this is the right thing to do. 

\- - 

Louis doesn’t really know where to begin. He thinks about going to some public archive if they’d have the information, but then he figures out that maybe public listings don’t have people’s private information. He starts to seriously wonder if he should do what Niall suggested. Should he just ask around, find someone who has lived in the neighbourhood for years and then try to find out who might’ve left the time capsule behind. 

He’s at work, trying to grade his student’s exams when he remembers a coffee shop down the road from his house. In the front, on the windows, it says that the coffee shop was established in the 60’s. Could there be someone, who has worked there the whole time? Or at least half the time. 

He ends up reading the essay answers without really knowing what he’s reading. He has to read many of the same sentences over and over again, so he can understand what the students have meant with their words. His mind is just already out of work, on his way to the café. 

 

“Excuse me,” Louis asks, leaning against the counter. He sees all the delicious looking sandwiches and pastries, the huge list of different coffees and teas, making a mental note to come back some time. But he has something better to do right now. 

“Yeah, just a sec,” a young girl, who is steaming milk, smiles at him. There’s already a line gathering behind his back and he hopes there’s going to be someone, who can give him answers. That’s his biggest wish at the moment. He wishes to find who left the time capsule behind and he wishes to find that person fairly easily. 

He really should be focusing on his work more, but the past week hasn’t been his brightest. All he keeps thinking about is the damn box. Who would leave such random things behind? He can’t find a reason for any of the items, what they mean or what kind of memories anyone would have related to them. Of course, it’s not his time capsule. He can’t say anything about it, since he didn’t put it together. He doesn’t have an emotional connection to any of the items, it’s as simple as that. 

 

“Yes, what could I get you?” The girl almost bounces on her toes. Her positive attitude could brighten everyone’s minds in this small café. At least she makes Louis smile. 

“I’m not actually going to get anything to eat, but I have a question.” He hears someone scoff behind his back, but he decides not to care about it. 

 

“Okay? How can I help you?” The girl’s expression changes completely. She leans closer, and her eyes are staring at Louis like he could share the secrets of the world with her. It almost feels like he’s going to do exactly that. 

“Do you know who has worked here the longest?” He sees the confused look on the girl’s face. 

“I’m looking for someone who would know something about the people who have lived on this street earlier. I’m not some weird creep, I promise,” he chuckles and hears another scoff. He would want to say some well-thought words to the person behind him but ignores it. 

He’s doing something important and if it means he has to ask the girl behind the counter who has worked here the longest, then he’ll do exactly that. 

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t,” she shakes her head, making her ponytail swing along. 

“Who owns this place, do you know?” 

“Some big company, I think. I’ve understood that the old owners had to sell the business, so they avoided bankruptcy.” 

“Oh, okay, I… Okay,” Louis stammers, thrown off. He should’ve seen this coming and not trust he’d get a name from the very first place he visits. 

 

“I guess there’s nothing we can do then,” he states, shrugging. 

“Thanks anyway,” he smiles and turns to leave. 

“Excuse me for a moment,” he hears the girl say before he feels a tug on his coat sleeve. 

“I think the bookshop across the street has been here for at least 20 years, if not even longer. And it’s still owned by the same person who started the business. Maybe you could ask them?” She points towards the other side of the street. He sees a small shop with a blue door and a few books in the shop window. 

“Thank you,” he feels a new wave of hope. The girl nods and goes back to serving customers, while Louis makes his way out of the coffee shop and across the street. 

 

A bell twinkles when he opens the door. He feels like he just stepped into another world. A place where time stands still and people talk in hushed voices. He sees another customer browsing through the shelves, and an older man sitting behind the till. 

“Hello,” Louis greets, and the man lifts his gaze from the book he was reading. 

“Hello there! What can I do for you?” He looks like he has travelled through time and space, stories and realities. 

 

“I’m actually looking for some information. I just moved here, and I found like a… A time capsule from my home. Now I’m trying to find who it belongs to.” He feels nerves building up in his stomach. He smiles while the man squints his eyes. 

“I was wondering if you knew who lived here before me,” Louis continues, when the man doesn’t say anything. He sets his book on the counter and looks at Louis with interest in his eyes. 

“I might know who have lived here before you if you give me a more exact location of your house,” he nods his head slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I live in the house with a red door,” Louis tries to start describing, but then he realises every house has a red door on this road. Well, every house other than this small boutique. 

 

“There’s a small oak growing on my front lawn,” he says, wondering if it was really an oak. 

“Oh, yes, that narrows it down a bit,” the man starts to smile. 

“You live close to Maggie?” He asks, and Louis has no idea what this man is talking about. 

“Maggie?” 

“Yes, she has lived here her whole life. I think you should go and have a chat with her,” the man picks the book from the table and opens it where he left off. 

 

“Where can I find this Maggie?” Louis asks, feeling horrible that he’s interrupting the man’s reading time. 

“Oh, she lives in the house with a lilac on her front lawn. It’s after your house,” It almost sounds like the man is mocking Louis’ way of describing his house. 

“Okay, thank you for your time,” Louis smiles at the man, ready to leave. 

“Maggie is usually swimming at this time of the week, but maybe she has already come back home,” he tells Louis. Another obstacle. 

“What time do you think she’d be at home?” 

“After six usually, she’s very active for her age,” the man smiles genuinely for the first time. 

“Thank you,” Louis bows his head, before he’s out of the shop. He checks his phone for the time, almost five thirty. Should he go check if this Maggie lady is already there? Or should he go home and then try later? 

 

He decides to pay Maggie a visit already, even if she wouldn’t be at home. He walks past his own house, looking out for a lilac. Then he realises one little problem. He doesn’t know what a lilac looks like. He knows what the flower looks like because his mum likes them, but he can’t remember what the tree actually looks like. 

He slows his steps and tries to figure out what tree is a lilac. An older woman walks closer to him with a heavy looking grocery bag in her hand. Louis jogs towards her, offering a kind smile. 

 

“You need any help?” He asks her, taking the bag from her hand before she even says anything. 

“How kind of you, thank you,” she says and smiles. She looks like she has lived a life filled with laughter. Her eyes are framed with deep lines that only deepen when she smiles. 

“I live here,” she waves her hand to the house next to Louis’ home. 

“You can carry the groceries into my kitchen,” the lady says, leading Louis to her door. A tree grows on her front lawn. 

“Excuse me, is that a lilac?” He has to try, what is there to lose anyway? 

“Oh yes, it is, you have good eyes,” she tells him, looking at the tree through her thick glasses. 

 

“Do you happen to be Maggie?” 

“Yes, I am, And you are?” She sounds polite like she would be dropped from a different time. 

“I’m Louis, I moved here about a week ago. I live in the house next to yours,” he points towards his home but gets just a tiny bit embarrassed. She might be old, but she’s not stupid. When he says he lives next door, she will know what that means. 

“How a man your age can afford a house like this?” She asks, a sparkle in her eye. 

“I started saving young,” Louis answers and almost winks at her, but leaves it out. They don’t know each other that well yet. 

 

“Well, Louis, tell me why you’re here,” she takes off her hat and lets her long grey curls fall on her shoulders. Louis thinks this could be his mum after 40 years. He sets the grocery bag on a chair and takes a deep breath. 

“When I moved here, I found a shoe box with some items in it. Now I’m thinking maybe the owner would want them back,” he speaks calmly, ready for another disappointment. Or that Maggie will turn him away too. 

“What was in the shoe box?” She asks, putting away milk and jam and some questionable looking fish pate.

“A book, a shirt, an empty post-it note and someone’s phone number,” he goes through the box in his mind, seeing the items clearly like he would’ve put everything inside. 

 

“No!” She exclaims, startling Louis. 

“Yes?” Louis asks her, confused. 

“It’s Harry’s time capsule!” Her voice is even louder now. 

 

“Harry?” The box’s owner has a name. Harry. Now, what does he look like? Blond, brunette, ginger? Blue, green, brown, grey eyes? Dark or light skin? Tall or short? 

“Yes, Harry! Oh, he was a lovely young man. I helped him make the time capsule,” she laughs, putting away the shopping bag. 

“Tea?” She asks Louis, motioning for him to have a seat. 

“Yes, thanks,” he takes off his coat but leaves his scarf on. He feels like his neck is burning from the blush that’s trying to creep up to his cheeks. Harry. What is Harry like? At least Maggie liked him, it’s clear. There’s a bounce in her step as she’s making the tea. She didn’t walk like that earlier. 

 

“So, about the time capsule?” Louis questions, discreetly trying to find more information about Harry. 

“I believe he was going through something at the time. One day he just arrived on my doorstep and told me he had to come and tell me about the lilacs that he always smelled in his room. And that he believed they were my lilacs. That’s how he ended up coming here almost every day.” She looks fond thinking back to the time she spent with Harry. 

“He liked to listen to stories about my childhood and teenage years because I grew up during the war. He was always interested to know more or see old pictures. He was such a nice young man, responsible and grateful.” 

“Was?” 

“Oh no, he’s not dead! He just hasn’t been here for many years. Sometimes I miss him, he was a nice person to talk with,” she gives Louis his tea and sits down opposite from him. 

 

“What about the time capsule, you think he would want to get it back?” 

“I don’t think he even remembers it,” she looks like she falls into her thoughts, digging up memories to give to Louis. 

“It was almost ten years ago when he asked me about making a time capsule. You see, I had made one in my childhood home and buried it in the garden. He wanted to make one to get rid of some things.” 

So, he doesn’t want to get the box back? At least that’s what Louis is gathering from Maggie’s words. He can’t believe he has been almost obsessing over an old shoe box for nothing. 

 

“I never asked him about it, when he came here carrying the shoe box and the items he wanted to put in. But it was clear he was hurting,” Maggie recalls, twining her fingers together. 

“He did cry though, so they must’ve meant a lot to him,” she tells Louis, drinking from her mug. Louis sips the tea, feeling at ease when the almost hot tea spreads through his body. 

 

“You think he’d like to get the things back?” 

“To be completely honest, I don’t know. He wrote that he has some painful memories, and I think the time capsule is part of the pain he feels,” she sighs, shaking her head. 

“To be so young but so broken. I always felt bad for him. You know, he took a year away from university. I never got to know why or what had happened, but he was like a different person when I first met him. He changed so much during that year…” 

 

“You said he wrote… He wrote to you?” Louis feels nervous, even though the moment is calm, and it feels like he’s talking with his own grandma. 

“Oh no, I don’t think he has time to write to his old neighbours anymore,” she laughs quietly and stands up. Louis watches her leave, making him wonder if he should follow. But he gets an answer when she returns carrying a book. 

“He wrote this, I believe it’s semi-autobiographical even though it is fiction.” She holds the book out for Louis and he takes it. 

“I saw him at a book signing after the book was released and he wrote the nicest message to me, you can see it in the first page,” she opens the book for him, showing him the few words. 

 

 _To my favourite neighbour. I still smell lilacs in my dreams. Love…_

“I still have his mother’s number. If you like I can give it to you,” she lets Louis browse through the book. 

“Yeah, sure, thank you,” he manages to look at her and smile, going back to the pages. He can hear Maggie upstairs, her footsteps thumping against the floor. 

 

“Here you go,” she offers him a post-it note, similar to the one in the time capsule. 

“Thank you,” he gives her the book back. 

“I think I have to get going, I have a lot to do today,” he knows he’s a convincing liar, but he’s still afraid Maggie is going to know. 

“Absolutely! It was nice meeting you, Louis. I hope I’ll see you again,” she leads him to the door and shakes his hand gently. 

“Likewise!” Louis steps out the door and his feet feel mushy. 

\- -

Louis: _You won’t believe who the time capsule belongs to!”_

Liam: _I can’t guess it either_

Niall: _Freddie Mercury?_

Liam: _Haha! Good one!!_

Louis: _Harry Styles!_

Liam: _The writer?_

Louis: _Exactly him!_

Niall: _The really handsome one?_

Louis: _YES!!!_

Liam: _How did you find out?_

Louis: _My neighbour helped him put it together!”_

Niall: _Your neighbour? What?_

Louis: _Yeah, she’s this cool older woman, and she had helped him put it together_

Liam: _Are you really serious now?_

Louis: _Yeah, I am!_

Liam: _And you know for sure that the lady wasn’t lying?_

Louis: _What the hell, Liam? No, she’s not lying! She showed me his book which he had signed and he had written a personal note for her_

Niall: _Are you going to call him?_

Louis: _I only have his mum’s number, the lady gave it to me_

Liam: _Are you going to call?_

Louis: _I don’t know yet_

 

Niall: _I think you should!_

Liam: _I think so too_

\- -

Louis is making sure everything looks good, that everything’s ready and in place. He takes the shoe box from the bookshelf and opens it. Then closes it. He taps the lid with his fingers, nervous and unsure what he’s actually doing. 

Harry is going to be here any minute. Louis knew he was supposed to do this when he got the number from Maggie. He wouldn’t have found the time capsule if it wouldn’t have meant to happen. He wouldn’t have opened it if he knew he wouldn’t find out whose belongings they are. He’s doing this only because he feels like this is the right thing to do. 

 

First, he had no idea what to say, when he called Harry’s mum. How could he, when he called a stranger and was basically saying _I have something of your son’s_. But he came up with something else to say. 

He told her he’s Harry’s old friend from university and that he would want to invite Harry to his New Year's Eve party. He was surprised how well Harry’s mum bought the story because even to his ears his little white lie sounded unbelievable. Why would he have Harry’s mum’s number, if he was friends with Harry? It went well anyway, and he got the number he needed. 

Calling Harry was a bit different. He knew what he wanted to say, he had written everything down. He had even imagined the conversation he’d have with Harry. He had planned it all! When the phone started to ring, he didn’t get past the third ring when he hung up. He had to stand up and jump in place for a moment, trying to psych himself up. When he knew he was ready, he sat back down and called again. 

 

Harry answered. His voice was low and raspy, something you can only associate with warmth and cosiness. Louis hung up, his hands trembling and his heart in his throat. He couldn’t stop thinking that he was calling _Harry Styles_ , a writer who everyone was talking about, who is said to be the next big British author and everyone will read his books. 

Then he remembered the portrait at university, in the literature faculty’s building and how he always looked at Harry’s picture like it could talk to him. He covered his eyes and threw his phone on the couch next to him, burying it under pillows. 

His phone started to ring, and it rang. And rang. And rang. Louis had to see who was calling. And who else would it be than Harry Styles. He cursed under his breath, before clearing his throat and answering. He pressed the phone against his ear, like an old man who isn’t sure how to use an iPhone. 

 

“He-hello?” He asked, taking the phone away from his ear for some reason, maybe to see if he really answered. He heard a muffled voice and pressed the phone back to his ear, hearing the low smoothness of Harry’s words. 

“Hello?” Harry sounded as confused as Louis felt. 

”Hello?” Louis asked back, not sure why he said it. 

 

“Yes, hello, who is this?” Harry asked and Louis felt like he might combust. 

“Uhh… It’s Louis, Tomlinson, and I uhhh…” His tongue was so dry that he was afraid it might drop out of his mouth. 

 

“Okay, let me start again,” Louis chuckled nervously before he took a deep breath. 

“I’m Louis, and I moved into your old house a couple of weeks ago. I was unpacking, and I found a shoe box under a dresser with random things inside. I was unsure if I should find the person who it belonged to, but then decided it might be a good idea.” Louis didn’t hear anything from the other end. He had to check if he was still having a call or if the line had cut. Harry didn’t say anything, Louis didn’t even hear him breathe. 

“I asked around the neighbourhood a bit and I talked with Maggie, who said that the shoe box belongs to you.” Still no words from Harry. 

“Are you still there?” Louis asked and heard a faint gasp. 

“Yes, yeah, sorry… I don’t know what to say, I had forgotten the box.” Harry’s voice was everything but cheery or glad. He sounded strangled like Louis would’ve taken the life out of him. 

“I can throw it away if you want, or…” 

“No, I’d like to have it,” Harry said swiftly and that’s how they decided Harry would come over. 

Now that he’s on his way, Louis doesn’t know how to be. He worries he has crossed an invisible line by opening the box or if Harry will just come and take it away. For some reason, Louis wants to hear the story behind the time capsule. Especially now that it has been indicated that it holds a lot of meaning to Harry. 

 

Louis is putting the kettle on when the doorbell rings. He almost drops the mug out of his hand but manages to catch it tighter in his grasp. He takes a deep breath and walks towards the door with shaky legs. 

“You can do this, there’s nothing to worry about,” Louis whispers to himself before he opens the door. 

 

Harry is studying the small spruce next to the door. He jumps a little when Louis suddenly appears in the doorway but manages to smile at Louis. 

“Hello, are you Louis?” He asks, and his voice is even warmer live. 

“Yes, hi, come on in,” Louis invites Harry inside and closes the door. Harry is looking around the house for whatever he can see. 

 

“I haven’t been here for many years,” he chuckles before he turns towards Louis and takes off his gloves.

“I’m Harry. Sorry, I’m a little overwhelmed by all this,” his cheeks are pink, and he talks slowly but still rushing with his words. So much so that Louis is afraid he might get tongue-tied. 

“Louis,” he introduces himself, and awkwardly they shake hands. 

“I brought this, I don’t know if you like wine but… yeah,” Harry looks at the bottle in his hands and offers it to Louis, who takes it and doesn’t dare to say that he doesn’t particularly enjoy drinking wine. Especially red wine. Maybe he can give it to his mum or make mulled wine out of it. 

“Thank you, you really shouldn’t have,” Louis walks into the kitchen and places the bottle in the fridge. 

 

Harry follows soon after, missing his coat and shoes. 

“Thank you for calling me, and finding out who the box belongs to. I truly had forgotten that I made it and left it behind.” He sees the box on the dining table, stopping in his tracks. 

“Is that it? How did I think it’d be bigger and somehow more glorious,” he chuckles.

 

“You want tea?” Louis offers, and Harry nods his head. Louis keeps watching him, what he does and how he reacts. Harry sits down slowly, pulling the box closer. 

“I’m sorry I opened it, I’m kind of a nosy person,” Louis brings the mugs to the table and a plate filled with Christmas chocolates. 

“No problem, I would’ve opened something like this too if I would’ve found it in my home.” Harry spins the box slowly, studying it like the box would be the most valuable thing here. He opens the lid and looks inside. 

Louis might be seeing things, but in his mind, he thinks Harry is really getting emotional. Harry covers his mouth with his hand and he picks up the Romeo & Juliet. He drops the small envelope on the table and doesn’t realise it at first. He opens the book and browses through it, seeing the one extra page. He smiles grimly, taking the page out. 

 

“I didn’t open the note,” Louis tells him when he still hasn’t seen it on the table. Harry glances at Louis and then follows his gaze to see the small envelope on the table. 

“I had forgotten this,” he picks it up and opens it. 

“I had forgotten everything in here, but it’s odd how I still remember what everything here means,” he talks mostly to himself, but then sighs and eyes at Louis. 

 

“Where was it? This box?” 

“Under a dresser in one of the upstairs rooms.” 

“That used to be my room,” Harry doesn’t put the note back into the envelope but leaves it open on the table. Louis doesn’t want to look, but he can’t help himself. 

 

_Benjamin, please come back. I’ll be waiting. XX, H._

Is it a love note?

 

“I guess you were wondering what the hell this all means?” His eyes are back on Louis. He looks soft like he could be from a dream and not from a real world.

“Yeah, a bit. I never liked Romeo & Juliet in school so that was a bit of a surprise to find in someone’s time capsule?” 

“I think you can call it that,” Harry smirks, picking up the t-shirt. 

 

“And then the ripped page,” Louis says, pointing at the paper sticking out between the pages. 

“I ripped it out because it’s where Romeo finds Juliet and thinks she’s dead. It’s a copy my university has…” 

“I actually saw it one day,” Louis says, nodding his head. 

“What, how?” Harry leans a little closer, his brows tightly knit together. 

“I teach history at the same university where you went. One day I had to pick up some books for another teacher and I noticed that one of the pages had been ripped out,” Louis explains, nervous what Harry will think. Why would someone take out a page from a book that isn’t even his? There must be quite the story behind it. 

 

“Well, I wanted my teacher to suffer a bit when he gave assignments from the book,” Harry chuckles. 

“This isn’t the only piece you took out, is it?” Louis asks him, genuinely amazed by this man. He must’ve hated his teacher. 

“I took pages out of all of the Romeo & Juliet copies. I took this and then every next one until there was no conclusion left,” he laughs like it’s the funniest thing. 

“You must think I was out of my mind?” He asks, calming himself down. 

“Well, it’s something original. I’ve never heard of a student who took out pages from the books they had to read,” Louis tries to keep his astonishment at a minimum, but he knows Harry can hear it clearly from his voice. 

 

“You really didn’t like your teacher then?” Louis chuckles, seeing Harry’s face drop. 

“I really didn’t, especially after I found out he was only playing me,” Harry shrugs, his eyes wide open. 

“Played you?” 

“Yeah… You see, I was the one who fucked their teacher,” he says honestly, making Louis inhale his tea. 

“Sorry to be blunt,” Harry grimaces when Louis can’t stop coughing. 

“No, no problem,” Louis wipes his mouth and breathes through the coughing fit. Louis doesn’t say anything else because that was a bit of a shocker to hear from a stranger. Especially from a stranger so beautiful. 

 

“I was stupid then, I didn’t know what I was doing. Or I did, but I didn’t want to admit anything to myself. I was going through a lot and needed someone, and he was there, even though he was a total dick.” Harry keeps shaking his head when he picks up the piece of paper with the number. 

“This is his,” he says. He puts the paper aside, picking up the t-shirt again.

“This is his too, though I wore it a lot. I think I won’t be saving these,” he smiles a relieved smile. He folds the shirt and places the phone number inside it. 

 

“What about the book, and the note?” Louis asks him. Harry cradles his mug between his palms and leans towards the table. His eyes are on the book and the note, that’s next to it. He picks up the note and reads it again. Maybe even more than once, since he doesn’t say anything for a moment. 

“Benjamin,” his voice breaks. 

“Benjamin was my first love,” he starts again and gets through the sentence with a weak voice. His eyes flick to Louis but then fall back on the book. 

“He worked at my dad’s publishing house as an apprentice when I was my dad’s assistant for a year. He was a few of years older than me, but he was still a lot more mature than most 23-year olds. He went into psychosis because he witnessed his ex-boyfriend take his own life.” 

Louis listens to him and he feels chills running down his spine. He sees the tears in Harry’s eyes even though he’s smiling. His whole personality changes like a light switch. First, he was confident, almost proud of himself for saying the things he said about his teacher. Now as he’s remembering Benjamin, he’s honest and broken. He still loves his first love. Maybe he’ll never stop. 

 

“I knew something was up when he did things that were a little odd. But he never told me anything. I went to visit him at the mental institute he was committed to, and he tried to strangle me. He kept screaming to me about blood on the floor. He didn’t see me there, he saw me as his ex-boyfriend. Though I think he wasn’t an ex. Benjamin always said that he was, but I don’t think they ever broke up.” 

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” Louis tells him. He’d want to reach towards his hands and hold them. But he can’t. He needs to remind himself that he doesn’t know Harry at all, even though he’s telling Louis his most personal memories. 

“It’s okay, thanks.” He takes a deep breath and looks like he might say something more, but then stops himself. 

 

“I’ve learnt to be honest about it.” He clears his throat. 

“I have to be, so I don’t lose myself. After the incident with Benjamin I didn’t feel anything for a year and I don’t want that to happen again,” Harry blinks his eyes and suddenly the green irises are on Louis. 

“This time capsule was symbolic, more than anything else. These are just random things, but at the same time, they aren’t. The teacher gave me that piece of paper with his number after we had kissed for the first time. It was in our classroom. That started the process when I realised that I wasn’t able to be on my own anymore. _I was 19 at the time, for goodness sake._ ” He sighs, almost incredulously listening to his own words. 

 

“I wore that shirt when I left him. I heard him talking to his fiancé about moving in together and that was the last nail in our coffin. I think I stole that shirt, even though he always wanted me to wear it,” he chuckles, touching the faded lemon print. 

“This book was Benjamin’s. He gave it to me, and it wasn’t until after we broke up, I started to like it. He told me about his ex who liked the story because it was the story of a hopeless romance. Before Benjamin was admitted, he liked to read it more and more. He didn’t put it down even though he finished it, he just began again. It was his relief. it was a relief for me too.”

He picks up the note and puts it back between the pages.

“I was supposed to leave this note to him when I went to visit him. I gave him flowers, yellow daisies. And I forgot to give him the card. I hid it between the book, just because I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t want to be reminded of what had happened. I just wanted to erase it. Minds don’t work like that though and it was more destructive than I thought.” 

 

Louis listens to him like Harry would be reading a book. His voice is soothing, even when he’s talking about a subject like this. Louis’ heart feels heavy with emotions he hasn’t felt before. He has never faced what Harry has faced, and he can only be moved by Harry’s strength. 

“What happened to Benjamin?” Louis asks like Benjamin wouldn’t be a real person. He wants to know more, and he needs to remind himself that he really exists and it’s not just an anxiety-inducing story.

“The last I heard he was getting married,” Harry smiles a genuine smile. 

 

“He works at another publishing house these days, I think he has been really successful. I saw him at one of my friend’s book release party, it was a while ago already. He looked like he was doing good. We didn’t talk or anything, he was with his date and I was socialising with important people from the industry,” Harry tells Louis. He looks like he can breathe when he finishes talking. Like he finally freed himself. 

“It was a bittersweet love. I don’t know if it was good love, but it made me become who I am.” 

Louis looks at him, almost feeling starstruck. Maybe he is, after all, Harry is someone who everyone keeps gushing over. This starstruck feeling Louis feels is a bit different though. He feels it in a way that makes his heart tremble. He ignores it but tries to save this feeling. He wants to feel this way when he finds someone special. 

 

“What about the empty post-it note?” Louis wonders out loud, taking it out of the shoebox. 

“Maggie said that it’d be good if there was a piece of paper that I could write on if I never get the time capsule back,” he takes the post-it from Louis. Suddenly his eyes find Louis’. 

“Do you have a pen?” He asks. The shadow of his time with Benjamin disappears and turns into light of something hopeful. 

“Sure,” Louis gets one for Harry and sees him write one word on the paper. 

_Free._

\- -

“You invited him here?” Niall asks Louis when they’re getting drinks.

“Yeah, I did,” he looks at Niall like Niall would’ve grown a third head. 

“But why?” Liam chimes in, pouring them all some more punch. 

“Because he was really nice, and I couldn’t just not invite him.” Louis can’t understand what’s the problem here. He invited Harry to his New Years Eve party, big deal. 

 

When Harry came over two weeks ago, they ended up spending the whole evening together and the next too. Louis gave him a tour of the house, even though Harry already knew what every room was for. He was still surprised to see how empty the rooms were, and he didn’t shut up about it. Louis liked it though. 

Louis liked being with someone who was honest and talked with him. They talked about the most random things, like magnets on fridge doors, and heavier subjects, like future plans. The next evening, they kept on talking like they wouldn’t have said goodbye the last evening. Louis has never felt such a connection to someone and it was startling to realise that. It felt like he was talking with an old friend who he hadn’t seen in a long time. Just like Louis told Harry’s mum. 

They kept bumping into each other everywhere. And every time they ended up spending the evening together, talking and connecting. Until Louis felt like they were tied together with a metal chain and nothing could break them. 

 

“I don’t even know if he’s going to show up, he didn’t give me any promises,” Louis takes his words back a little bit when he sees the look on his friend’s faces. They’re going to give him shit about talking about Harry the whole time since they met. Louis just feels like he can’t shut up about him. If even he notices it, what can it be like for his friends. 

They’re going to say that Louis has feelings for Harry, which will just make everything crash and burn. Louis doesn’t have feelings for a man who he doesn’t know that well yet. 

“I think we just got our answer,” Liam nods towards the door and they all turn to look. Harry is standing there with a few of his friends (of course Louis asked him to bring some along. It would’ve been weird if he would’ve asked Harry to come alone), their heads already bobbing to the rhythm of the heavy bass music. Louis feels like he’s at a teenager’s house party, not at a New Years Eve party hosted by a 31-year-old university professor. 

 

“There he is, the youngest professor in history!” His colleague from musicology comes stumbling towards Louis, Niall and Liam. 

“Nick, happy New Year!” Niall hugs him with open arms, while Nick looks completely wasted. 

“Did I hear correct…” He sees someone in the crowd and squeezes his eyes shut to only open them again until it looks like they might fall out of his head. 

 

“I did, Harry Styles is here! Louis, how do you know him?” He waves his hand in the air, swaying against Niall. 

“He’s a friend,” Louis tells him, knowing that it doesn’t matter what he tells Nick tonight. Nick won’t remember it anyway. He could say that Harry is his brother and Nick would believe it. 

“Heeey!” Nick exclaims, bumping against others as he sways to say hello to some other friends. 

“I love Nick!” Niall laughs, pumping his fist in the air. 

“We all do,” Liam smiles crookedly, which only makes Louis wonder if there’s something going on between the two. If Liam says something about Harry to Louis, then Louis will bring up Nick. 

 

Louis goes around the house greeting everyone, sipping his drink and feeling it buzzing in his blood. He sees the people Harry came with, getting drinks from the dining room. He tries to find Harry with them, but can’t. 

“Looking for someone?” He hears, and the sound drowns into the beat of the music. 

“Yeah, I saw him earlier, but now he’s nowhere to be found,” Louis says falling into his thoughts. Did Harry leave? Maybe he doesn’t like parties like this. Or then he’s somewhere but Louis just can’t see him. But how could that be possible, when Harry is so tall and recognisable. 

“I think you’re looking for me,” he hears and when he turns towards the voice, he can only slap himself. 

“Oh shit,” he laughs. Harry grins like Louis would’ve told the funniest joke of the party. Though everyone will tell the funniest jokes in the end when all the drinks are gone. 

 

“Nice party!” Harry leans closer and his hand is warm against Louis’ shoulder. Louis feels it tingling in his bones, even though he will always say it’s because he’s getting drunker by the second. 

“Thanks, it’s the party of the century!” Louis exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air and his drink from the cup. They watch it splash on Nick, who looks around to see what happened. He’s just too drunk to realise anything. He just keeps on dancing with his boyfriend, like his shirt wouldn’t be soaked with vodka and passionfruit juice. 

 

“I have something for you,” Harry tells Louis, leaning just a little closer than before. 

“What, for me?” Don’t say it’s another wine bottle. 

“Just come with me,” he says and takes Louis’ hand into his. He squeezes tight to keep Louis with him. He leads them upstairs, away from the party. Louis follows him and realises he would follow Harry wherever he might take them. 

 

They end up in Harry’s old room, which Louis has turned into a study. Harry lets Louis go in first and then closes the door when they’re in the quiet. They can still hear everything that’s going on downstairs, but it’s muffled like they’d listen to it through a pillow. 

“I just wanted to thank you for finding me and giving me the time capsule. I appreciate it, truly.” 

Louis stands in front of Harry, not really getting what Harry is saying. Or more like he can’t understand where this is going. He’s just waiting to see a wine bottle somewhere that he has to take. 

 

“This might be completely silly, but…” He takes something from the desk and hands it to Louis. 

“This is not a shoebox, but something you can maybe even bury if you want or hide somewhere and it won’t break apart,” he smiles nervously, watching Louis’ carefully. 

“Is this… Is this a time capsule? A real time capsule?” Louis takes it in his hand, struggling to hold it only in one hand. Harry takes Louis’ cup and lets Louis study the case. 

 

“I was dreading you’d give me wine,” comes out of Louis’ mouth. Harry bursts out laughing, folding over. 

“Then it’s good I didn’t bring you the bottle I was planning to give you,” he smirks, drinking from Louis’ cup. 

“Thank you, wow, I wasn’t prepared for this or expecting this at all,” Louis says, earning more laughter from Harry. 

“What?!” He exclaims, staring at Harry who can’t stop laughing. 

“Thank you, mum, dad, your support made it possible for me to get the award for time capsule of the year,” Harry giggles until he can’t breathe. 

“I’m not a time capsule!” Louis swats his arm, playing offended, even though he loves to hear stupid jokes like that. 

 

Louis opens the capsule and inside is a piece of paper. He notices how Harry isn’t laughing anymore, not even smiling anymore. He takes the paper into his hand and sees the date. It’s today. 

“Why is there a paper with today’s date on it?” Louis questions, shaking it in the air. Harry swallows hard, Louis can see it. Harry’s behaviour starts to make Louis nervous and he takes a step closer. 

“What is it?” Louis asks, wanting to wrap his arms around Harry. 

“I thought it would mark a memory made together,” Harry says so quietly that Louis has to strain his hearing. 

“What?” Louis puts the paper back into the case and closes it. 

 

“I know this might sound weird. Especially since we just met. But I’m a bit tipsy and this seemed like a good idea last night.” Louis listens to him closely, almost wanting to hear Harry say whatever he wants to say right next to his ear. 

“I don’t believe in love at first sight or insta-love or any of that crap,” he says and the music stops downstairs. Louis holds his breath for the seconds it’s quiet. 

“But I think there’s something here.” Harry finishes, taking one last step forward.

 

“I’d like to start the new year by kissing you,” he says. Louis stares at him, gasping out a breath. He tries to find words from his head, but he can’t. Nothing comes to mind. 

“You can say no and we can just forget this and move on and you can take the piece of paper out of the capsule. But I thought I’d be honest with you, and not makeup excuses why I can’t like you.” 

This. This moment. Harry’s words. This is what Louis wants. This is what makes his heart race and his feet feel numb and his mind go hazy. This is something he wants; honesty and openness. He hates when people don’t tell him how they feel. He hates when he needs to go in circles, thinking about reasons if something can work and why not. He doesn’t want something that slowly burns him, he wants something that strikes and holds him. He wants _this_. 

 

“It’s midnight soon and I hope to see you downstairs when the new year begins,” Harry smiles gently. He gives Louis the cup, and Louis notices it’s empty. Harry keeps his distance, even though Louis would want to reach out towards him and somehow make him know this is going to happen. Their first memory as hopefully _something_. 

Harry leaves him alone, and Louis hopes he’d have a drink in his hand. Even wine would be fine. He doesn’t know what the time is, but it has to be close to midnight. He opens the capsule and looks at the small piece of paper. It’s something that might not matter to anyone else. But to him, and to Harry, it would mean so much more. It would be a start. 

 

He hears people cheering. Did it already happen? Did the clock turn 12 already? No. People are chanting the numbers to count down the last seconds of this year. 20 seconds. Louis leaves the capsule on the table and runs towards the stairs. 

His steps are a little wobbly, but he manages to stay on his feet. He tries to find Harry from the crowd, but there are too many people. There’s too much noise. People are cheering already, only 10 seconds left. 

 

Louis squeezes through the crowd, his eyes searching and searching. But nothing. Did he imagine it all? He stops and turns, frantically trying to see where Harry is. He wants this, why can’t he just have this. 

“Five! four!” The crowd chants even harder and Louis’ heart is hammering in his chest. 

 

“Looking for someone?” Louis hears next to his ear. He closes his eyes and allows himself to breathe. 

“Two! One!” 

Glitter pops from glitter bombs and colours everything silver. Louis’ heart trembles, and this time he doesn’t ignore it. 

Louis turns around and sees Harry smiling shyly. Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and pulls him closer. Harry’s arms are gentle when he cradles Louis in his arms in the silver rain. Their lips touch and a new memory is made. 

\- -

“Louis, come on!” Harry calls from downstairs, the last few boxes waiting to be lifted into the moving truck. 

“Yeah, in a second!” Louis takes a hammer and pulls the panel from the dresser. A couple of nails fly towards him, but he avoids them by ducking away. He wipes the floor under the dresser, making sure the floor is clean. 

 

“What are you doing?” Harry asks him, startling Louis. 

“I’m leaving this here,” Louis shows Harry the capsule he got from Harry seven years ago.

“You still have that? How didn’t I know?” Harry kneels next to him. He looks at the capsule, turning it in his hands. 

“I was saving it for something and I think this is the something,” Louis smiles, giving Harry’s cheek a kiss.

 

“Are you going to tell me what’s inside?” Harry hands the capsule back to Louis. He puts it under the dresser and places the panel into its right place. He hammers to the dresser with one small nail, knowing that it will give out some day and someone will find the capsule. When that’ll be, he doesn’t know. But he hopes that someone will find it and it will be a positive surprise. 

“No, it’s a surprise if someone will call us and tell us that they found our capsule,” Louis stands up and helps Harry up too. 

“Let’s go,” he smiles and waits for Harry to go out first, closing the door behind them. They take the last few things they have left and carry them into the truck. 

 

“You’re really not going to tell me what you put in the capsule?” Harry asks Louis when they’ve given the movers instructions to the new house and are sitting in their car. 

“No, I’m not. It might be next year when it’s found and then you’ll know. Or it could be decades from now and then our kids will know what I saved. But you’ll find out eventually, one way or another.” 

“You know I love you, more than my heart can take,” Harry tells him, starting the car.

“Let’s go make new memories,” Louis tells him, trying to hide the happy tears in his eyes. 

 

Louis sees the lilac tree still growing next door. Maggie loved the lilacs, she always gave them to him or Harry when they were walking past. And they always smelled the flowers in their bedroom during summer nights. 

Louis sees the book shop where he went years ago to ask if the owner knew who had lived in his house before he moved in. Harry loved that book shop and one Christmas he gave Louis the first edition of Alice in Wonderland that he found from there. It was Louis’ favourite fairy tale, as it was Harry’s when they grew up. 

Louis looks at their wedding rings and remembers the moment they got engaged. It was an accident; he wasn’t supposed to find the ring from Harry’s jacket pocket one May evening. But he did, and Harry asked Louis to marry him with a smile on his face and tears streaming down his cheeks. He remembers the wedding pictures, that always make him realise what he has in his life. How lucky he is. 

And Louis remembers his vows from their wedding. 

“On New Years Day you stayed to clean the house and I knew I was in love. Since then I have cherished you and every memory we make together. I will cherish you every second of my life until my heart stops beating.

 

A dried lilac flower.   
Alice in Wonderland.   
His and Harry’s wedding picture.   
His vows to Harry.   
And their first memory together. 

Maybe someone will find the memories Louis wanted to save. Maybe they will stay untouched for years. Whatever happens, their love will stay saved through time. And nothing can change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was a short one! What did you think? 
> 
> Leave me a comment or kudos if you feel like it or come and talk with me on tumblr :)

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo what did you think? Please leave a comment or kudos if you feel like it and you can always come and talk with me on [tumblr](https://shadowofyoursong.tumblr.com/) :)


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